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1  --3 


THEOLOGICAL   BBMIKARY, 
Princeton,  JT,  J, 


«» 


C^S^-^^-t 


^ 


SERMONS, 


B  Y 


SAMUEL  STANHOPE  SMITH,  D.  D. 

PRESIDENT      OF      THE      COLLEGE      OF 

NEW-JERSEY. 


-».»wr:^3!ft»~~ 


CORRECTED  AND  REVISED   BY   TH2   AUTHOR. 


rOPr  RIGHT  SECURED  ACCORDING  TO  AN  ACT  OF  CONCP.F.SS, 


NEW  A  R  K,    N  E  V/-J  E  R  S  E  Y  : 
Printt-d  and  Sold  ey  Jacob  Halsey  and  Co. 

NEAR    THE     EPISCOPAL     CiJURCfl. 


PREFACE. 


THE  following   difcourfes  I  commit  to 
the  public  with  diffidence.     There  is 
no  fpecies  of  compofition  which  it  is  more 
difficult  to  execute  well,  fo  as,  at  once,  to 
edify  and  pleafe — to   give  the  grace  of  no- 
velty to  old  and  trite  truths — and  to  add  the 
decent  and  lawful  embeilifiiments  of  art  to 
the  fimplicity   of  the  gofpel.     Stile  is  fo 
much  an  obje6l;  of  cultivation,  in  the  pre- 
fent  age,  that  the  mod  ferious  and  intereft- 
ing  truths  are  no  longer  well  received,  un- 
lefs  conveyed  in  an  agreeable  manner.     I 
have  endeavored,  in  this  refpetl,  to  confult 
the  public  tafte,  without  facrificing  to  it, 
however,  the  plainnefs  and  gravity  of  evan- 


IV 


PREFACE. 


gelic  truth.  As  far  as  I  have  been  able,  I 
have  ftudied  to  unite  the  fimphcity  that  be- 
comes the  puipit,  along  with  a  portion  of 
that  elegance  that  is  now  fo  loudly  demand- 
ed in  every  kind  of  writing.  The  fubjefts 
of  difcourfe  I  have  felePied  with  as  much  va- 
riety as  pofnble,  and  have  endeavored  to 
adapt  to  them  a  correfpondent  variety  of 
{lile. 

The  French  preachers,  who  flourifned  at 
the  clofe  of  the  laft,  and  the  coitimencement 
of  the  prefent  century,  I  have,  from  an  early 
period  of  life,  admired  for  a  certain  fervor 
in  their  facred  eloquence,  which  the  Englifh, 
too  frequently^  want.  This  manner  I  aim- 
ed, in  forne  degree,  to  transfufe  into  my  own. 
And  altho,  in  prepajfring  thefe  difcourfes 
for  the  prefs,  and  cpnfequently  for  the  clo- 
fet,  where  the  mind  is  ufually  in  a  cool  and 
difpalfionate  llate,!  have  abated  fomewhat  of 
the  warmth  which  I  endeavored  to  fupport 
in  the  delivery,  yet,  in  the  greater  part  of 


PREFACE.  V 

them,    this     charader    will    dill   be    per- 
ceivable. 

It  is  almoft  impofiTible,  in  the  prefent  pe- 
riod of  fociety,  and  of  the  progrefs  of  letters, 
to  treat  on  any  fubjeft  in  morals  or  religion 
that  has  not  been  illuO  rated,  in  forae  point 
of  view,  by  fome  eminent  writer.  Altho 
every  writer  and  fpeaker,  if  he  has  any  ta- 
lents, will  be  difcinguiihed  by  a  peculiar 
manner  of  thought  and  expreffion,  which 
v/ill  give  variety  and  novelty  to  a  fubjecl  in 
his  hands  ;  yet,  there  may  fometimes  exifl 
an  unavoidable  coincidence  of  fentiment  be- 
tween him  and  others,  and,  fometimes,  ano- 
ther may  have  fo  happily  hit  off  an  idea 
that  he  would  not  wifh  to  change  it,  becaufe 
it  cannot  be  changed  but  with  difadvantage. 
Where  a  few  inftances  of  this  kind  occur  in 
the  following  difcourfes,  I  have  carefully  re- 
ferred to  the  authors,  as  far  as  my  memory 
has  ferved  me.  For  this  I  have  the  exam- 
ple of  Arch-bifliop  Tiilotfon,  and  other 
diilinguifhed  writers   in   the   Englilh  lan- 


vi  PREFACE. 

In  the  greater  part  of  thefe  difcourfes  I 
have  adopted  the  ordinary  mode  of  divifion. 
In  that  on  Deaths  however,  I  have  followed 
the  idea  of  the  celebrated  Arch-bifhop  of 
Cambray  in  his  dialogues  on  eloquence,  in 
which  he  recommends  to  a  preacher  to  take 
fome  fmgle  truth,  fome  fimple  principle  of 
religion,  as  the  fubjed  of  difcourfe  ;  and, 
in  the  illuftration,  to  obferve  a  real  but 
concealed  order,  not  laid  down  in  dillin6l 
propofitions,  nor  marked  by  numerical  cha- 
rafters.  In  a  warm  and  pathetic  ftrain  of 
addrefs  this  {lru61ure  of  a  difcourfe  may  pro- 
fitably be  chofen  ;  but  where  inflruftion 
principally  is  aimed  at,  the  common  prac- 
tice, by  diRinft  and  marked  divifions,  is, 
perhaps,  to  be  preferred. 

Some  readers  would  have  been  better  pleaf- 
cd  with  profound  theological  difcuffions, 
and  with  more  copious  arguments  and  il- 
luftrations  drawn  from  the  facred  fcriptures. 
I  have  chofen,  however,  to  adapt  myfclf  to 
a  much  larger  clafs  v/ho  can  hardly  be  in- 


PREFACE.  vii 

duced  to  read  writings  of  the  kind  I  have 
juft  mentioned  ;  and  I  have  endeavored  to 
gain  an  accefs  to  their  hearts  for  the  folid 
and  fubflantial  truths  of  religion  by  difplay- 
ins:  them  in  a  manner  that,  if  it  does  not 
gratify,  will,  at  leaft,  not  offend  their  tafte. 
Readers  of  every  clafs  will  find  in  them  many 
remarks  drawn  from  the  philofophy  of  hu- 
man nature,  mingled  along  with  the  illuf- 
trations  of  divine  truth. 

Such  philofophical,  critical,  or  hiftorical 
references  as  I  thought  might  wear  an  air  of 
pedantry  if  introduced  into  the  text  I  have 
thrown  into  notes.  To  the  learned  reader, 
indeed,  they  are  unneceiTary,  and  might 
have  been  fpared  ;  but,  to  thofe  lefs  conver- 
fant  in  bocks,  they  may  not  be  unentertain- 
ing,  nor  entirely  ufelefs. 

The  defign  of  making  this  publication  did 
not  originate  with  me.  Nothing  was  more 
remote  from  my  thoughts  at  the  time  it  was 
fuggefted  and  urged  by  a  valued  friend  from 


vm 


PREFACE. 


his  partiality,  rather  than  from  his  judg- 
ment. And  ftill,  I  am  far  from  eftimating 
highly  its  merit,  or  being  fanguine  of  its  fuc- 
cels.  It  will  at  leall  enable  me  to  judge 
whether  or  not  any  other  work  of  the  fame 
kind  is  likely  to  be  well  received. — That  it 
may  be  ufeful  to  any  portion  of  my  readers, 
and  invite  to  ferious  refleftion  fome  who 
would  not  have  foueht  it  from  another  book 
is  my  fervent  prayer,  and  almoft  my  higheft 
hope. 

SAMUEL  S.  SMITH. 


CONTENTS. 


DISCOURSE    I. 

Caiifes  of  Infidelity,  i 

DISCOURSE     II. 

The  fame  Suhjed  continued,  28 

DISCOURSE     III. 

On  the  Dangers  of  Pleafure,  ^3 

DISCOURSE     IV. 

The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,  Z^ 

DISCOURSE     V. 

The  Penitent  Woman  at  the  Feet  ofjcfus.    111 

DISCOURSE    VI. 

On  hidiiftry,  138 

DISCOURSE    VII. 

The  Lord's  Supper  a  Memorial  of  Chrift,    1 74 

DISCOURSE     VIII. 

The  United  Lifluence  of  Reflexion  and 
Sacred  Reading  in  Cultivating  and 
Purifying  the  Morals^  199 


CONTENTS. 

DISCOURSE     IX. 

The  Forgivcne/'s  of  Injuries,  229 

DISCOURSE    X. 
The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries— feconcl  Df 
courfe — the  Excellence  and  Rea/on- 
ablenefs  of  this  Duiy.  247 

DISCOURSE     XI. 

On  the  Plecf ares  of  Religion.  275 

DISCOURSE     XII. 

On  Secret  Faults,  303 

DISCOURSE     XIII. 

On  Public  Vices.  333 

DISCOURSE     XIV. 

On  Death — the  Uncertainty  of  that  Inter - 
ejling  Event,  and  the  Proper  Im- 
provement of  it.  3(jo 

DISCOURSE     XV. 

On  the  Left  Judgment.  380 

DISCOURSE     XVI. 

On  the  Happincfs  of  Good  Men  in  a  Fu- 
ture State.  409 


DISCOURSE    I. 

CAUSES    OF    in-FlDE,0'^X^l^Q^^'-O'A 

c 

^  iX     A   aJ.  JCi  U  JLi  u  v^  > 

PSALMS    LIII.    1.  **- 

The  fool  hathfaid  in  his  heart,  there  is  no  God. 

IN  the  facred  language,  the  fool  and  the 
fmner  fignify  the  fame  perfon.  Impiety* 
is  oppofed  to  the  cleareft  principles  of  rea- 
fon,  and  vice  makes  the  facrifice  of  the  beft 
and  highefl  interells  of  human  nature.  Vi- 
cious conduct  naturally  leads  to  impiety  in 
principle — and,  reciprocally,  impiety  in- 
creafes  the  flrength  of  every  finful  propenfi- 
ty.  Irreligious  principle,  in  every  degree  of 
it,  fprings  out  of  the  corruption  of  the  heart. 
It  is  the  diftate  of  its  finful  inclinations,  of 
its  guilty  wilhes,   of  its   crimmal   paihons. 


* 


Impiety  is  a  term  that  expre/Tes  thofe  principles  that 
deny  the  being,  perfedions  or  providence  of  God,  or  thoie 
actions  that  molt  diredly  violate  his  authority,  and  the  duty 
and  reverence  which  wc  owe  to  him. 

B 


:2  Caiifes  of  Injidelity. 

which,  much  more  than  reafon,  contribute 
to  form  the  moral  fyllem  and  rule  of  con- 
duft  of  an  unbehever.  Atheifm,  which  is 
its  ukimate  grade,  will  ufually  be  found 
conne8:ed  with  extreme  depravity  of  man- 
ners. Therefore,  the  facred  writer  fubjoins 
to  the  refieftion  in  the  text,  ''  corrupt  are 
they,  and  have  done  abominable  iniquity." 

The  progrefs  of  infidehty,  like  that  of 
vice,  is  gradual.  Men  at  firft  enteriam 
doubts  concerning  thofe  laws,  only,  of  reli- 
gion which  are  raofl  direftly  oppofed  to 
their  favorite  pleafures.  By  degrees  they 
queflion  every  do61rine  that  impofes  any 
reflraint  upon  their  moft  indifferent  vices. 
At  laft,  they  are  emboldened  to  rejeft  the 
whole  fyftem  of  revelation.  When  the  au- 
thority of  revealed  religion  is  thrown  off,  no 
limits  can  be  affigned  to  incredulity  and  er- 
ror. Having  no  flandard  of  truth,  each 
man's  moral  fyflem  will  be  framed  agreea- 
bly to  his  inclinations.  And  thefe  inclina- 
tions, according  to  the  common  maxims  of 
a  vicious  philofophy,*  will  be  ere61ed  into 
laws  of  nature.     God,  as  the  moral  govern- 

*  See  introduiflicnto  RoulTeau's  Confefiions. 


Caiifcs  of  Infidelity,  ^ 

or  of  the  univerfe,  will  be  excluded  from  his;- 
plan  as  foon  as  that  doctrine  becomes  incon- 
venient ;  2u\(S.Jode,  necc/Jily,  accident,  I  know 
not  what,  will  be  fubftituted  in  his  room, 
Atheifm  is  only  the  laft  link  in  that  chain 
of  impious  conclulions  that  arife  out  of  the 
depravity  of  the  heart.     And,  indeed,  be- 
tween the  rejeclion  of  revelation,  and  abfo- 
lute  impiety,  there  is,  in  the  philofbphy  of 
the  preft  nt  age,  hardly  any  middle  grade. 
The  one  and  the  other  rell  upon  the  lame 
principles,  and  are  equally  liable  to  the  fe- 
vere  cenfure  of  the  facred  writer — The  fool 
hath    formed  the  conclufion  in   his  heart. 
It  is  the  heart  that  reafons,  and  folly  de- 
cides.    In  treating  of  the  cauies  of  inlide- 
lity,  which  I  purpofe  to  do  in  the  prefent, 
and  in  a  future  difcourfe  I  fnaii  take  the  fub- 
jeft  in  this  extent,  as  queflioning  generally 
the  truth  of  religion.     It  is  not  my  intention 
to  enter  into  any  difcuffion  of  the  evidences 
of  religion   either  natural  or  revealed. — 
Thefe  have  often  been  difplayed  with  fuch 
clearnefs,  and  eflablifned  with  fuch  force  of 
argument  by  a  multitude  of  excellent  wri- 
ters, that  it  cannot  be  proof,  but  honcRy  and 
candor  which  men   require  to  make  them 
fmcere  and  humble  converts  to  the  crofs  of 


4  Caufcs  of  hifideliiy. 

Chrift.  Frequently,  the  befl  refutation  of 
infidelity  is  to  ex  pole  it  to  itfelf,  and  to  lay 
open  its  real  principles  and  motives.  This 
I  purpofe  to  do  in  the  k  lowing  diicourfes : 

In  the  introdu6lion,  permit  me  to  obferve 
that  this  fubject,  never  unimportant,  is,  at 
the  prefent  period  particularly  interefting, 
and  worthy  your  moft  ferious  attention. 
Europe  is  deluged  with  a  flood  of  impiety. 
The  corruption  of  her  manners  is  daily  in- 
creafing  the  extent  of  the  evil.  Her  philo- 
fophers  and  wits,  her  orators  and  poets,  are 
continually  opening  wider  its  lluices,  and 
adding  to  it  that  force  and  extenhon  which 
genius  alone  can  give  to  the  principles  of 
vice.  Our  own  country,  although  as  yet 
but  in  the  infancy  of  its  exillence,  is  rapidly 
imitating  the  degeneracy  of  her  manners, 
and,  confequently,  the  licence  of  her  prin- 
ciples. You  fee  the  profeffed  difciples  of 
an  impious  philofophy  filling  many  of  the 
moft  refpettable  fi:ations  in  fociety — You 
frequently  fee,  in  the  upper  clafles  of  for- 
tune, an  open  and  undifguifed  neglecl,  and 
even  contempt  of  the  inflitutions  of  piety — 
You  fee  a  profligate  generation  rifing  up, 
who  affc6l  to  fport  with   every  moral  tie. 


Caufes  of  Infidelity,  e 

and  to  treat  with  levity  the  moft  fa c red  doc- 
trines  of  religion,  and  that  great  depofitory 
of  truth,  the  holy  Icriptures.  Let  us  exa- 
mine the  principL-  upon  which  they  a6t  : 
to  de\  elope  them  will  be  to  demonftrate 
their  folly.  They  may  be  comprifed  under 
the  heads  of  Vice,  of  Ignorance,  and,  of 
Vanity.* 

I.  Infidelity,    in  the  firfl;  place,   is   com- 
monly founded  in  vice.     Rare  is  it,  indeed, 
that  men  commence  their  courfe  of  impiety 
by  rational   and  ferious  doubts  concerning 
the  authenticity  of  the  facred  fcriptures — 
that,  actuated  by  an  honeft  love  of  truth, 
they  have  profoundly  and  impartially  exa- 
mined the  evidence  on  which  they  reft — and 
when,    on  good  grounds,   they  have  been 
convmced  that  there  exifted  no  divine  law 
to  controul  their  condutt,  and  no  fupreme 
judge  to  whom  they  were  amenable,  have 
then   only  indulged   in  greater  licence  of 
manners.     On  the  other  hand,  do  we  not 
almoft  always  fee  them  begin  by  relaxation 
of  morals ;  and,  after  their  taftes  and  habits 
have  been  vitiated,  then,  and  only  then, 

*  MafTiUon  Doutes  fur  la  Religion. 


6  Caiifcs  of  Infidelity. 

think  of  queRioning  truths  that  controul 
their  propenfities,  or  condemn  their  plea- 
fiires/*  As  long  as  they  preferved  their 
original  {implicity  of  manners,  they  receiv- 
ed with  refpeci^,  the  religion  of  their  fathers, 
and  entertained,  without  fufpicion,  the  fa- 
cred  principles  infliried  into  them  in  their 
education,  and  fo  ftrongiy  recommended 
by  the  voice  of  uncorrupted  reafon.  \\  hen 
their  manners  began  to  change,  they  found 
new  queilions  continually  riling  in  their 
minds,  concerning  do^irines  which  hitherto 
had  appeared  fo  refpeftable  and  holy. — 
Their  doubts  kept  pace  with  their  vices. 
As  every  fucceRive  indulgence  threw  down 
the  fences  of  virtue  to  a  greater  extent, 
they  found  thcmfelves  tempted,  by  degrees, 
to  bring  in  queilion,  every  law  of  religion 
that  oppofed  their  inclinations,  and  at 
length,  by  one  bold  and  decifive  effort,  to 
rejecl  the  whole. 

This  is  not  an  unfounded  reprefentation, 
reRinp-  merely  on  a  pious  prejudice.  It  is 
a  matter  of  experience — and  for  the  truth 

*  From  this  remark,  may  be  excepted  a  few,  who  feera 
to  be  governed  from  the  beginning  of  life,  by  a  peculiar 
perverfity  of  natural  temper. 


Caufes  of  hifidcUty,  j 

of  it,  I  confidently  appeal  to  the  experience 
of  thofe  who  afletl  to  diltelieve  the  gofpel, 
and  to  treat  it  with  an  unholy  levity,  if  their 
i-nfidelity  did  not  commence  in  a  purfuit  of 
plcafure,  too  free  to  be  reconciled  to  its 
pure,  humble,  and  felf-denied  fpirit.  At 
hrft,  confcience,  not  yet  perverted  by 
falfe  principles,  nor  rendered  callous  by  the 
habit  of  finning,  would  remonfcrate  againft 
their  criminal  purfuits.  Thefe  remoniiran- 
ces  would  be  accompanied  with  refoiutions 
of  amendment;  but,  finding  every  refolution 
overcome  as  foon  as  the  temptation  was  re- 
newed, defpairing,  at  length,  of  their  ov/n 
fortitude  to  conquer,  they  ftudied  only  to 
juflify  their  inclinations. 

A  man  has  powerful  reafons  for  endea- 
vouring to  reconcile  his  opinions  with  his 
conduct — if  his  praftice  is  not  fupported  by 
principle,  it  lays  the  foundation  of  a  pain- 
ful and  diftrenincr  conflicl:  in  the  mind — he 
is  miferable  who,  always  a  flave  to  his 
paffions,  is,  at  the  fame  time,  always  over- 
whelmed by  his  own  ("elf-reproacl:es — when 
his  paCions  are  too  ilrong  for  his  fenLim.ents 
and  purpofes  of  duty  ;  when  he  finds  it  dif- 
ficult to  change  his  habits,  and  is  umrillmg 


8  Caitfes  of  Infidelity, 

to  renounce  his  pleafures,  he  foon  endea- 
vours to  modify  his  principles  according 
to  them.  And,  unhappily,  when  a  man 
ftudies  to  deceive  himfelf,  it  is  always  in  his 
own  power — it  is  his  heart,  not  his  under- 
flanding — his  wilhes,  not  his  reafon,  that 
then  decide  upon  truth. 

Another  proof  that  irreligious  principles 
are  the  fruits  of  vicious  and  loofe  living,  is 
the  fpirit  of  the  objeftions,  that  are  ufually 
made  againfl  religion. 

Are  they  not  pointed  againll  thofe  doc- 
trines, chiefly  that  are  molt  direftly  oppof- 
ed  to  the  criminal  inclinations  and  purfuits 
of  men  ?  The  continence  and  purity  requir- 
ed by  the  gofpel,  firfl  awaken  the  enmity  of 
the  libertine  and  profligate,  and  raife  in 
them  a  wifli  to  find  it  falfe.  Its  fobriety 
and  temperance  difpleafe  the  dilfolute  :  its 
meeknefs,  forbearance  and  humility,  oflend 
the  proud  and  refentful.  The  fpirit  of  re- 
treat, of  devotion,  and  heavenly  mindednefs 
which  it  enjoins  revolts  thofe  whofe  hopes 
and  enjoyments  centre  only  in  this  world. 
In  a  word,  the  predominant  and  charafter- 
iftic  vice  of  each  finner  firfl:  impels  him  to 


Ccsiifes  of  IrJiddiiyK  g 

feek  for  objeclions  agalnll  religion.  Above 
all,  are  not  thefe  objedions  urged  with  the 
f^reateft  zeal  ag-ainil  thofe  do6iriiies  fo  drcad- 
ful  to  the  guilty,  the  final  judgment  of  God, 
and  the  eternal  retributions  oi  his  juftice  ?  Is 
it  not  in  order  to  free  their  minds  of  the  ap- 
prehenfions  created  by  thefe  awful  truths, 
that  they  fo  earneitly  endeavour  to  ihake  the 
deepell  foundations  of  the  chriilian  faith  ? 
Thefe  ideas  give  no  molellation  to  virtue  : 
they  are  terrible  only  to  vice,  and  vice 
alone  is  folicitous  to  deftroy  them.  Becaufe 
'•  tlie  carnal  mind  is  enmity  againlt  God^. 
and  is  not  llibjeCt  to  his  law,  neither  indeed, 
can  be, '  it  v/ould  endeavour  to  annihilate 
both  the  lav/  and  the  iaws^iver.  / 

While,  endaved  as  they  are  to  tlieir  luPcs,, 
they  admit  the  authority  of  religion,  they 
are  compelled  fecretly  to  tremble  at  the 
ideas  of  futurity.  Their  fears  are  a  proof 
of  their  crimes.  In  this  cafe,.,  their  only 
rcfource  for  peace  of  mind  is  to  renounce 
religion  ;  to  perfuade  themfelves,  that,  at 
death,  they  (liall  ceafe  to  exill;  and  that, 
hereafter,  there  will  be  neither  tribunal 
nor  judge..    When  thefe  ideas  are  cPtabliih-- 

C 


20  CaufesoJ  Injiddiiy, 

ed,  confcicnce  has  no  more  ground  for  its 
reproofs ;  the  heart  no  more  caufe  for  its 
fears.  To  this  point,therefore,  all  their  (la- 
dies are  bent,  that  they  may  acquire  tran- 
quility in  the  pleafureable  purfuits  of  vice. 
Senfual  pleafure  is  their  lupreme  good,  and 
if  they  can  diveit  themfeives  of  ail  appre- 
benfions  for  the  future,  into  it  they  plunge, 
with  headlong  and  brutal  appetite. 

It  is  the  obje6l  of  all  thofe  writers,  who 
have  lately  diiiinguilhed  themselves  as  ene- 
mies of  the  crofs  of  Chrifl,  to  eflabiiih  the 
licentious  idea,  that  death  is  an  eternal 
lleep  ;  that  there  is  no  moral  governor  of 
the  univerfe,  no  judge  to  whom  we  are  ac- 
countable for  our  ati  ions.  And  is  it  not  the 
objecl  of  philofophy  in  every  nation,  and  in 
every  age,  when  morals  have  become  ex- 
tremely corrupted,  to  prove  that  men  have 
the  fame  end  with  the  brutes,  only  that  they 
may  abandon  themfelves  to  the  fame  ap- 
petites ? 

If  religion  prefented  nothing  to  their 
faith  but  abftrufe  fpeculations,  and  incom- 
preheniible  mylteries  that  had  no  relation 
to  morals,  they  would  pafs  them  with  the 


Caufes  of  Injidelity,  tt 

fame  indifference,  that  they  do  the  abdrac- 
tions  of  any  other  fcience  :  but  it  touches 
the    heart,    and    controuls    their    luits — - 
therefore  it  is,  that  it  awakens  in  them  the 
keeneit  oppohtion.  They  profefs,  indeed,  to 
be  (hocked  at  its  myfteries  ;  they  find  doc- 
trines in  it  that  revolt  their  reafon,  and  on 
thefe  they  inceffantly   declaim  :  but,   it  is 
only  to  conceal  from  themfelves  and  from 
the  world,  the  true  grounds  of  their  enmity. 
It  is  becaufe  relisjion  commands   them  to 
renounce  this  guilty  commerce ;  to  facrifice 
this    criminal  conneCiion ;   to  fubdue   this 
dominant  luft,  and  to  flee  even  the  motives 
and  temptations  to  evil,  that  it  excites  all 
rancour  of  hatred,  and  all   the  bitternefs 
of  hoftility.     Afliamed  to  avow  thefe   dif- 
honorable  caufes,  they  endeavour  to  enlill 
reafon  in  the  fervice  of  the  paffions,  and 
pretend  to  reft  on  it  an  infidelity,  that  takes 
its  true  origin  from  the  heart.    It  is  becaufe 
religion  can  make  no  com.promife  with  vice, 
that  It  is  the  objetl  of  their  abhorrence, — 
By   the   rancour  of  their  m.inds,   w^e  may 
judge  of  the  real  ground  of  their  enmity  to 
the  law  of  Chriil.  Hypocrify  and  impolture, 
are  the  leall  crimes  which  they   impute  to 
religion.  Their  farcafms  and  fneers.  they  are 


1 2  Caufes  oj  Irifidelity, 

never  tired  of  reiterating  againft  its  hifto- 
riesj  its  doftrines,  and  its  miniiiers.  They 
urge  them  on  all  occafions;  they  repeat 
them  without  regard  to  decency  or  oppor- 
tunity. The  malignity  of  their  hearts,  the 
irritation  of  provoked  and  difappointed 
paflions,  continually  burll  forth,  and  dif- 
play  themfelves  in  the  whole  manner  of 
their  oppofition  to  the  inftitutions  of  piety. 
Too  plain  it  is,  to  be  denied,  that  their  pre- 
tended infidelity,  and  their  declared  hoitili- 
ty  to  religion,  take  their  rife  foiely  from 
their  vices. 

Another  proof  that  infidelity  fp rings  from 
the  vices  of  men  is,  that,  ufuaily,  it  keeps 
pace  with  their  paifrons  ;  it  flourifnes  in  prof- 
perity — in  adverfity  it  lofes  its  confidence 
and  effrontery.  The  tide  of  pleafure  buoys 
it  up  ;  health,  and  a  vigorous  flow  of  fpirits, 
keep  far  out  of  view  that  interefting  period 
that  tries  the  honefi:y  and  folidity  of  the 
principles  of  our  condu£l.  But,  let  affiiftion 
weaken  the  force  of  the  pailions — let  fome 
crreat  and  unexpecledreverfe  of  providence 
wreil  from  the  proud  the  power  or  the 
wealth  in  which  they  truiled,  and  from  the 
voluptuous  the  plecJures  which  intoxicated 


Calif es  of  Injideliiy,  i^ 

them — let  them  be  reduced  to  feel  the  va- 
nity and  uncertainty  of  the  world,  within 
the  narrow  circle  of  which  they  had  circum- 
fcribed  all  their  happinefs  and  their  hopes — 
their  infidelity  begms  to  totter — their  hearts 
begin  to  mifgive  them — that  future  world 
which  they  had  hitherto  defpifed,  and  pro- 
feffed  to  difDelieve,  begins  to  acquire  reali- 
ty and  importance — anxiety  and  alarm  take 
polfeflion  of  the  foul,  and  in  the  moment  of 
diitrefs  and  weaknefs,  when  they  moil  need 
a  fupport  like  that  of  religion,  they  are  left 
to  defpair.  When  real  danger  appears, 
their  pretended  principles  are  not  able  to 
fuftain  them :  they  find  indeed  that  they  had 
no  principles — they  w^ere  only  the  deceitful 
didlates  of  a  fenfual  heart,  which  they  had 
miltaken  for  principles.  Why  do  their 
opinions  vibrate  ?  Infidels  in  profperity, 
believers  in  extreme  adverfity — Why  does 
their  boafied  impiety  for  fake  them  at  a  fea- 
fon  fo  critical  ?  If  it  were  founded  on  rea- 
fon,  it  could  not  change — reafon  is  aWvays 
the  fame.  But,  relting  only  on  the  paflTions 
and  the  vices,  it  is  mutable  like  them.  W  hen 
the  fuel  that  nourilhes  them  is  withdrawn, 
its  delufions  and  eiirontcry  are  both  at  an 
end. 


i.-y 


Canjes  of  Lnjiddity, 


Let  a  Tinner  who  glories  in  his  fancied 
ftrength  of  mind,  becaufehe  is  not  govern- 
ed by  vulgar  prejudices   and  fuperltitious 
fears,    approach   that   hncere   hour  when 
thini>-s  begin  to  appear  in  their  true  lights, 
when  th"  world  which  had  deceived  him 
is  vaniihing  from   his  fight,  when  he  feels 
hhnfelf  drawing  near  that  eternal  exigence 
which  now  ailumes  an  awful  reality,  and  the 
terrors  of  divine  juiiice  impofe  a  dreadful 
neceiuty  to  be  honeit— ah  !  at  this  moment, 
can   he   reft   upon  his    principles  ?     Vain 
principles !  they  are  fwept  away  like  light 
and  withered  leaves  before  the  rifmg  ilorm. 
Inilead  of  that  tranquil  and  afiefted  incre- 
dulity with  which  he  formerly  difmilFed  the 
duties  of  piety,  or  fneered  at  its  remonllran- 
ces,  you  lee  him  agitated  by  cruel  and  ex- 
ceftive  fears.     His  heart  trembles  and  faints 
within  him,  at  the  profpeft  of  a  judgment  to 
come.     Does   he  any   longer  cavil  at  the 
evidences,  or  revolt  at  the  incredible  doc- 
trines of  religion  ?     Does  he  demand  new 
proofs  of  it  before  he  will  believe  ?    No ;  he 
believes  and  trembles.     It  is  not  its  evidences, 
but  its  comforts,  which  he  requires.  You  hear 
him  intreat  for  thofe  holy  oihces  which  once 
he  defpifed.    He  calls  for   thofe  minifters 


Caiifes  of  Irji.delify,  15 

of  God  who  formerly  were  the  obje8s  of 
his  negleft,  perhaps  of  his  foolilh  fcorn.  It  is 
not  now  the  queiiion  with  him,  if  there  be  a 
God?  If  there  be  a  future  (late  of  retribution? 
Thefe  truths  rulh  with  fearful  evidence  up- 
on his  foul;  but,  with  the  trembling  jailor, 
"  what  fliall  I  do  to  be  faved  ?"  He  preifes 
the  verge  of  an  eternal  exiilence — the  pad 
prefents  nothing  but  fubjeds  of  gloomy  and 
felf-condemning  refletlion — the  future  of- 
fers nothing  but  a  fearful  and  overwhelming 
defpair.  If  a  ray  of  hope  (trikes  upon  his 
mind,  through  the  awful  darknefs  that  fur- 
rounds  him,  it  is  derived  only  from  that 
defpifed  religion,  to  which,  too  late  perhaps, 
he  now  flees  for  refuge.  Oh !  'tis  an  honed 
hour  that  tries  to  the  bottom,  the  founda- 
tions of  infidelity.  How  few  can  then  (land 
the  fevere  fcrutiny  of  confcience,  or  bear 
the  teft  of  their  own  reafon  when  difentan- 
gled  from  thofe  objefts  that  ufed  to  deceive 
it  ?  Not  one,  perhaps,  of  all  that  witling 
tribe,  who  infult  or  cavil  at  a  religion,  which 
they  have  never  examined.  When  the 
props  on  which  his  impiety  had  refted,  are 
torn  from  beneath  the  finner,  by  the  unre- 
lenting hand  of  death,  the  wretched  fabric 


J"  • 

i5  Caufes  of  Infidelity. 

tumbles  on  his  guilty  head,  and   crufhes 
him  beneath  the  ruins. 

Is  this  reprefentation  drawn  too  high  ? 
Penitent  Rochefter!  I  appeal  to  the  tears 
and  conFefiions  of  thy  lad  moments.*  Was 
not  this  the  language  of  thy  defpair,  fero- 
cious Blount  !  v/honi  thy  miferies  com- 
pelled to  be  thy  own  executioner  ?f  And 
Shaftefbury  !  gay  and  mirthful  Shaftefbury  ! 
fo  apprehenfive  v/ert  thou  of  the  impotence 
of  thy  philofophy,  to  fupport  thee  in  this 
great  conflicl,  that  thou  hail  forewarned  thy 
friends  not  to  receive  as  genuine,  any  fen- 
timents  on  religion,  which  thou  mightefl 
utter,  in  the  weaknefs  of  nature,  during  her 
lad  ftruggles.  Thou  haft,  by  anticipation, 
abjured  a  confellion  thou  waft  afraid  the 
honefty  of  death  might  extort  from  thee  ?  j 

*  The  noted  Earl  of  Roclierter,  the  hiflory  of  whofe  llber- 
tinlfm  and  penitence,  has  been  written  by  Biftiop  Burnet. 

f  The  author  of  the  Oracles  of  Reafon,  ^sPao,  at  lafl,  be- 
coming gloomy  and  melanchoiy,  in  a  fit  of  defpair,  put  an 
end  to  his  own  life. 

X  Anthony  Afhley  Cooper,  Earl  of  Shaftefbury,  equally 
celebrated  for  his  wit  and  his  infidelity.  He  was  fo  fuccefs- 
ful  in  the  ufe  of  delicate  irony,  that  he  endeavoured  to  ef- 
tablilh  it  as  a  principle,  that  ridicule  is  the  proper  tell  of 
ti-uth.     From  the  example  cf  miiny  ether  iutidels,  he  v/as 


Caufes  of  Ivjideliiy.  17 

Such  examples  demonflrate  that  many, 
even  ofthofewho  arrogate  to  themielves 
the  dillinclion  of  being  philofophic  infidels, 
have  not  a6led  in  life  under  the  full  convic- 
tion of  their  own  principles.  A  lecret 
doubt  flill  lurked  at  the  bottom  of  their 
hearts,  which  the  light  of  eternity,  as  they 
approached  towards  it,  has  difclofed  to 
view.  And,  does  not  almoR  every  liber- 
tine, in  the  intervals  of  his  pafhons,  after^ 
the  intoxication  of  pleafure  is  off  the  mind, 
iind  his  confcience  inifgive  him  when,  in  a 
cool  and  ferious  hour,  he  looks  forward  to 
the  end  of  life  ? 

This  is  a  new  proof  that  the  principles 
of  infid.dity,  which  he  sports  in  the  moments 
of  levity,  and  on  which  he  fom.etimes  aifecls 
to  reaibn,  are  not  embraced  with  candor 
and  fincerity — they  are  the  oiispring  of  the 
palhons,  and  that  only  during  the  ieafon  of. 
profperity — aliiiclion,  winch  ilrips  the  en- 
chantment from  vice,  fhakes  the  conndence 

apprehenfive,  left  the  fears  of  death  might  fliake  tlie  firmnefs 
of  his  philoibphy,  and  draw  from  him  fomi;  declaration  fa- 
vorable to  religion.  He  rcquclls  his  friends,  if  he  (houlJ 
make  any  fuch  declaration,  to  aieribe  it  to  the  weakucfs  of 
nature;  and  to  take  his  real  fentimcats  from  liis  writings. 


2  8  Carafes  of  ■  Infidelity, 

which  the  mind  had  repofed  in  them. 
The  ferious  profpeft  of  eternity  overwhelms 
them  with  defpair. 

Such  is  the  opprobrious  origin  of  infidel- 
ity. It  continually  fpeaks  to  us,  indeed,  of 
the  fuperior  illumination  of  reafon  ;  but  it 
fprings  out  of  the  very  bofom  of  darknefs. 
It  boalls  of  a  ftrength  of  mind  fuperior  to 
other  men ;  but  it  ihews  us  only  the  weak- 
nefs  of  a  corrupted  heart,  a  (lave  to  the  mod 
difgraceful  luits.  Ah !  this  vaunted  ftrength 
is  nothing  but  the  boldnefs  and  intoxication 
of  vice,  that  will  fiiortly  be  converted  into 
abjecl  fear,  and  that  now  often  trembles  in 
fecret  at  its  own  daring.  Frequently,  in- 
deed, the  moll  confident  appearances  of  im- 
piety are  united  with  real  and  difquieting 
apprehenfions  of  the  truth  of  religion.  The 
proiligate  endeavors  to  efcape  from  his  own 
reiledions,by  plunging  into  fucceilive  fcenes 
of  dilTipation.  An  oiientatious  difplay  of 
impiety,  an  exceihve  levity  on  the  fubjecl 
of  religion,  is  intended  merely  to  cover  from 
the  world,  or  to  iliiie  in  his  own  bread,  the 
apprehenfions  that  diilurb  his  peace.  He 
derives  a  kind  of  perfuafion  in  favor  of 
faliiiood  by  frequently  repeating  it.     If  the 


Caiifcs  of  Infiddify.  i^ 

principles  of  his  education  fbinetimcs  re- 
cur with  force  ;  if  the  fears  of  futurity,  at 
certain  moments,  difquiet  him  ;  he  ftudies 
to  reprefs  them,  and  to  fortify  his  heart  a- 
gainit  itfelf,  by  venting,  in  a  bold  and  inde- 
cent Iiile,  the  maxims  of  impiety.  His 
feoffs,  his  fneers,  his  profane  declamations 
againfh  religion,  are  they  any  proof  of  the 
real  and  fettled  convittion  of  his  mind? 
Far  from  it.  His  mind  is  weak  and  timid  ; 
and  he  llrives  only  to  fupport  his  courage 
by  playing  the  infidel.  He  is  a  coward  who 
endeavours  to  allay,  or  conceal  his  appre- 
henfions  by  an  overacled  bravery — He  re- 
fembles  a  fooiifh  child  who  (ings  in  the  dark 
to  chafe  away  his  own  fears,* 

Every  view  which  w^e  have  taken  of  the 
rubjetl,  tends  to  confirm  the  truth  which  I 
propofed  to  illuftrate,  that  one,  and,  per- 
haps, the  principal  caufe  of  that  infidelity, 
real  or  pretended,  that  infetts  the  circles  of 
fafiiionable  didipation,  and  has  plunged  fo 
many  profligate  youth  in  the  depths  of  im- 
piety, is  to  be  found  in  the  growing  vice  and 
licentioufnef;  of  the  public  manners.  '-'The 
fool  hath  faid  in  his  heart  there  is  no  God — ■ 

*  Maffillcn, 


so  Caufes  of  Iiifideliiy. 

Cor mpt  nr^  they,  and  have  done  abomina- 
ble iniquity." 

A  fev/  philofophic  infidels,  perhaps,  in 
whom  a  talie  for  Iiudy  and  Icience  may 
have  correfted  the  grolier  diforders  of  the 
palEons,  ^vill  feel  themfelves  little  aiiecled 
by  the  general  llrain  of  the  obfervations 
hitherto  made.  Yet  is  it  true,  notwithliand- 
ing,  that  the  ground  of  their  oppofition  to 
the  gofpel,  is  an  inward  and  (trong  averfion 
to  the  purity  and  holinefs  of  its  precepts. 
They  cannot  fubmit  their  hearts  to  the  yoke 
of  the  Redeemer  ;  therefore,  they  endeavour 
to  break  and  caft  it  off.  But  1  have  chiefly 
in  viev/  that  numerous  tribe  who  have  never 
even  fuperhcially  examined  the  principles 
of  chriiiianity — who  have  adopted  the  cant 
rather  than  the  philofophy  of  impiety — and 
who  continually  fport  its  principles  as  a 
juftification  of  their  irregulari  ies.  Unhap- 
py men !  who  are  tearing  away,  with  perni- 
cious zeal,  every  remaining  tie  that  yet  ira- 
poies  any  check  upon  your  career  to  ruin  ; 
for  one  moment  ferioudy  confider  your 
flaie  -paufe  in  your  courie,  and  look  for- 
ward to  its  end.  If  there  is  a  God,  with 
what  aggravated  terror  will  you  at  lall  meet 


Cav/es  of  Itifideliiy.  21 

this  judge  whom  you  had  notexpecled  ?  If 
the  gofpel  is  true,  what,  O  miferable  Ibuls  ! 
mult  be  your  fearful  deltiuy  r*  Can  your  im- 
pious levity  change  the  eternal  nature  of 
right  and  wrong,  or,  by  makmg  you  forget, 
fuCpend  the  punihiinent  of  your  crimes  ? 
Can  your  denial,  or  your  oblivion  of  your 
creator,  impede  the  iure  and  awiul  courfe 
of  his  juiiice  r^ 

If  infidelity  is  condemned  by  the  difgrace- 
ful  principle  from  which  it  I'prings,  it  is  not 
leis  condemned  by  its  unhappy  confequen- 
ces.  That  horrible  doctrine  that  removes 
God  from  the  univerfe,  pre.ents  nothing  to 
the  rational  view  but  a  boundlefs  waiie  of 
death — of  inevitable  fufferinffs  during  a  few 
moments  of  exiitence,  followed  by  the  hi- 
deous profpetl  of  eternal  annihilation.  If 
the  fyflem  of  nature  is  not  arranged  and  go- 
verned by  a  wife  and  gracious  providence ; 
if  we  do  not  exiil  by  the  power,  and  under 
the  protection  of  a  merciful  and  almighty 
parent ;  if  there  is  no  happinefs  but  by  ac- 
cident, and  the  tranfient  polfeflion  of  it 
mull  only  augment  the  pain  of  being  fpee- 
dily  torn  from  it  forever  ;  if  mifery  is  urged 
upon  us  by  the  lav/s  of  a  fatal  necelhty,  and 


22  Caufes  of  Infidelity. 

there  is  no  remedy  for  extreme  fuffering  % 
if  in  this  Hfe  only  v/e  have  hope,  and  ail 
beyond  is  a  fearful  gulph  of  everlaiting  obli- 
vion ;  then  exiflence  is  a  curfe,  this  world  is 
a  dreary  prifon,  the  good  man  may  fit 
down  in  defpair,  and  weep  over  his  own 
being ;  or,  like  the  fons  of  guilty  pleafure, 
he  may  renounce  his  ufelefs  virtue,  and  fay, 
"  let  us  eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  we 
die!" 

The  certain  tendency  of  principles  of  ir- 
religion  is  to  increafe  the  immorality  and 
licenfe  from  which  they  fpring.  Whatever 
weakens  the  obligations  of  piety,  tends  to 
dilTolve  both  the  ties  of  virtue,  and  the  re- 
flraints  of  vice.  Convenience  and  power 
become  the  only  rule  of  juftice — inclination 
and  opportunity  the  only  limit  of  voluptu- 
oufnefs.  Relaxation  of  morals  marches  in 
the  front,  libertinifm  follows  in  the  train  of 
infidelity. — Hovv'  cautious  ought  youth  to 
be  even  of  liftening  to  principles  fo  flatter- 
ing to  the  padions,  but  fo  dangerous  to 
the  foul !  Shun,  as  the  moft  ruinous  en- 
emies, thofe  falfe  friends  v/ho  endeavour  to 
infinuate  into  you  the  fatal  poifon.  Suf- 
pe61  the  gay  and  fafcinating  forms  of  plea- 


Caiifes  of  hifiddiiy.  23 

fure  under  which  they  prefent  vice  to  your 
choice — for,  in  the  end,  "  it  biteth  like  afer- 
pent,  and  llingeth  like  an  adder." 

Thefe  principles  appear  in  their  mo{l 
pernicious- and  deteftable  form  when  they 
invade,  as,  in  fome  inilances,  even  in  this 
young  country  they  have  done,  that  fex 
whofe  peculiar  glory  is  modefty  and  chaui- 
ty.  Religion  (hould  always  find  an  afylum 
in  the  female  breaft.  It  is  the  higlieft  em- 
bellifliment,  and  it  is  the  greateft  fecurity  of 
their  characleriiUc  virtues.  When  their  re- 
ligious fentiments  begin  to  be  corrupted,  fo- 
ciety  is  on  the  verge  of  diffolution — iicen- 
tioufnefs  then  is  under  no  reftraint.  But, 
while  their  hearts  preferve  the  facred  depo- 
fit  of  religion,  entrufted  to  them  in  their 
early  education,  they  impofe  the  moft  effec- 
tual check  upon  libertinifm  of  manners. — 
To  their  piety,  the  public  morals  will  owe 
the  moil  elfential  oblio-ations.  Deteft, 
therefore,  and  fhun  the  man  v/ho  would 
ever  attempt  to  feduce  your  heart,  by  be- 
traying your  underftanding.  The  princi- 
ples of  irreligion  can  never  be  infinuated  to 
you  but  with  the  bafefb  defigns.  Fleafure 
is  the  decoy  of  vice,  and  the  advocate  of  iiix- 


24  Caiifes  of  hrjideliiy, 

piety.  Whenever  (he  offers  her  enticements, 
fufpe6l  fome  latent  danger.  She  is  a  Syren 
whofe  fong  lures  unwary  voyagers  into  the 
midft  of  gulphs  that  fwallow  them  up,  and 
amongd  rocks  that  daih  them  to  pieces. 
Shut  your  ears  againil  her  enchantments — 
clofe  your  hearts  againR  her  deftruftive 
charms.  Religion  is  your  fli  eguard  and 
your  ornament — it  is  the  fureil  bafis  both  of 
your  honor  and  your  happinefs. 

Permit  me,  in  the  conclufion,  to  addrefs 
a  ferious  admonition  to  thofe  young  p^r- 
fons  who,  wifliing  for  greater  licenfe,  are  be- 
ffinninsT  to  pronounce,  though  with  a  feeble 
and  heiitating  tone,  the  language  of  inhdel- 
ity.  You  are,  as  yet,  little  aware  of  the  fa- 
tal ifTue  to  which  you  are  tending.  When 
once  you  begin  to  difplay  your  doubts,  or 
your  wit  on  the  fubjecl  of  religion,  or  to 
feek  for  arguments  to  relax  its  ties,  the  pro- 
grcfs  is  commonly  rapid  towards  the  point 
of  abfolute  impiety.  Every  criminal  indul- 
gence becomes  a  nev/  argument  with  the 
heart,  acrainlt  the- law  of  ChriR  which  con- 
demns  it.  By  embracing  the  prmciples  of 
infidelity,  you  are  feekmg  for  a  peace  of 
confcience  in  the  purfuits  of  vice  v/hich 


Caufes  of  Infidelity.  25 

they  can  never  yield.  The  great  and  fun- 
damental truths  of  religion  are  too  deeply 
impLmted  in  human  nature  to  be  eahly 
eradicated.  And,  while  they  remain,  they 
muft  difquiet  the  tranquility  of  the  fmner. 
You  may  deny  the  exillence  of  a  righteous 
Deity — iny  our  heart  you  may  wiQi  there,  were 
none — you  may  fecretly  lay  to  yourfelf,  in 
the  moment  of  temptation,  there  is  no  God  ; 
but,  Hill  the  fcntiment  of  his  fear  remains 
— the  bodings  of  his  juRice  follow  your 
crimes — ah !  thefe  bodings  are  the  deep, 
infallible  di61ates  of  nature  :  they  are  lure 
prefages,  to  the  impenitent,  of  an  awiul 
retribution.  Arreft,  then,  your  ftep,  if  you 
are  yet  only  entering  on  the  threlhold  of 
impiety.  Seek,  while  you  may,  the  precious 
refuge  of  religion,  that  will,  ere  long,  be 
denied  to  the  hardened  finner.  In  the  hour 
of  affliciion  you  wilf  find  in  its  defpifed  in- 
{litutions,  in  its  doclrines,  and  its  hopes, 
your  only  confolation.  But  if  you  deny 
your  Creator — if  you  perfift  to  rejeft  the 
Lord  who  bought  you,  to  wliom,  or  to  what, 
will  you  have  recourfe  in  your  extremity  ? 
— When  the  cold  hand  of  death  is  preiling 
upon  you — when  you  are  trembling  before 
the  king  of  terrors,  o\\ !  with  what  dreadful 
E 


26  Caufes  of  Infidelity. 

importunity  will  you  be  conPirained  to  im- 
plore the  mercy  of  that  God  whom  you 
have  denied !  will  you  call  for  the  aids  of 
that  religion  which  you  have  infulted! 
Good  God !  the  terror  of  looking  into  the 
grave  under  a  fearful  uncertainty  about  our 
eternal  being ;  or,  under  the  more  fearful 
apprehenfions  of  eternal  mifcry  !  Unthink- 
ing youth !  who  are  fporting  v/ith  fubjecls 
of  fuch  infinite  moment,  or  aiking  with  a 
fneer,  for  the  reafons  on  which  relio-ion 
commands  your  faith,  and  your  obedience 
— look  on  the  death-bed  of  an  unbeliever, 
and  fee  the  reafons !  There  is  an  object  in 
which  )-ou  may  contemplate  the  value  of 
religion,  and  the  falfehood  of  thofe  impious 
principles  on  v/hich  you  are  hazarding  your 
falvation.  See  the  trembling,  the  expiring, 
the  defparing  mortal !  His  terrors  (peak 
to  you  wiih  the  evidence  of  demonfiration, 
and  declare  the  exiiience  of  a  holy  and 
righteous  judge  of  the  univerfe.  His  lan- 
guage, and  his  looks  proclaim  the  reality  of 
the  dreadful  retribution  he  is  going  to  re- 
ceive. The  remorfe  which  diilracLs  him, 
Ihould  preach  the  gofpcl  to  you  with  the 
moll  perfuahve  eloquence.  Ah !  impiety 
of  living  is  a  dreadful  preparative  tor  a 


Caufcs  of  Lifiddiiy.  27 

dying  bed.  Fatal  indeed  is  his  folly  who 
Jays  in  his  heart  there  2s  no  God,  till  that 
moment  of  irremediable  terror  and  difmay 
when  he  fees  him  already  drelTed  and  feat- 
ed  for  judgment.  "  Behold,  now  is  the 
accepted  time — behold,  now  is  the  day  of 
falvation !"  "  Turn  ye,  therefore,  to  the 
firong  hold,  ye  prilbners  of  hope  !"' 


[      28      ] 

DISCOURSE     IL 

CAUSES     OF     INFIDELITY^ 


-™U!3eJ25E=ra 


Psalms  liii.   i. 
The  fool  hath f aid  in  his  heart ,  there  is  no  God. 

THE  reileclion  of  the  facred  writer  in 
this  padage  relates  immediately  to  that 
delperate  atheilm  which  denies  the  exiRence 
of  an  infinite  and  eternal  Spirit,  the  maker 
and  the  judge  of  men  ;  or,  to  that  oblivion 
of  God  which  feizes  fmners  in  the  ordinary 
train  of  life,  and  leaves  their  paffions  and 
their  vices  without  reftraint.  I  have  ex- 
tended the  idea  fo  as  to  embrace  the  prin- 
ciples of  infidelity  univerfally,  inafmuch  as 
they  are  all  efPecls  proceeding  from  the  fame 
caufe.  The  charatler  of  the  fool  may  well 
be  applied,  not  only  to  thofe  cool  and  fpe- 
culative  unbelievers  who  have  eiiabliflied  to 
themfelves  fyftems  of  impiety  from  the 
abuie  and  perverfion  of  reafon,  but  to  thofe 


Caufcs  of  InfidJ,ily.  li-C) 

light  and  ignorant  pretenders  to  infidelity 
who  liave  only  adopied  from  others  certain 
licentious  maxims  which  they  have  not 
been  able  to  conneft  with  their  principles 
or  their  conlequences ;  or,  whole  powers 
reach  no  tarther  than  to  indulge  a  perpe- 
tual vein  of  rude  wit,  and  indecent  pieaian- 
try  on  the  fubjeci  of  religion.  In  a  dif- 
courfe  of  this  nature,  adapted  to  general 
inftruftion,  perfons  of  this  chara6l:er  v/ill 
perhaps  merit  our  principal  attention — be- 
caufe  fober  and  rational  infidels  are  rarely 
to  be  met  with,  while  impudent  and  ip-no- 
rant  men  are  every  where  to  be  found. 

In  treating  of  the  principles  of  iiiiidelity, 
and  expofing  their  criminaiiiy  and  folly,  I 
have  avoided  entering  into  any  confidera- 
tion  of  the  excellence  of  the  gofpel,  or  of 
the  evidence  on  vvhich  it  rells.  I  have  con- 
fined my  attention  to  unfold  thofe  guilty 
and  difgraceful  caufes  thatufually  combine 
their  iniiuence  to  render  men  enemies  to 
reliffion.  Thefe  I  have  endeavoured  to 
comprehend  under  the  heads  of  vice,  of  ig- 
norance, and  of  vanity — Vice  that  creates  in 
the  heart  an  inveterate  enmity  to  the  law  of 
God,  and  puts  an  unjuil  bias  on  the  mind 


30  Caiifes  of  Infidelity, 

in  judging  of  divine  truth — Ignorance  that 
has  never  ferioully  and  impartially  examin- 
ed the  fubjecl — And  Vanity  that  aiTumcs 
a  falfe  and  frivolous  honor  to  itfelf  for 
thinking  diifercntly  from  the  bulk  of  man- 
kind. 

The  firPt  of  thefe  caufcs  I  have  already 
illuRrated.     I  proceed  to  obferve,  that 

II.  Ignorance  is  a  frequent  fource  of  thofe 
irreligious  principles,  and  dii'courfes  that 
every  where  produce  fo  much  evil  in  foci- 
ety.  An  ignorance  as  criminal,  as  it  is  dif- 
graceful — that  fprings  as  much  from  the 
corruption  of  the  heart  which  is  unwilling 
to  fee  the  truth,  as  from  the  defeft  of  the 
underllanding  which  has  never  fincerely 
examined  it. 

I  have  not  in  view  at  prefcnt  a  few  phi- 
lofophic  infidels  whofe  memory  the  annals 
of  literature  liave  prefervcd,  and  who,  by 
Vvifdom,  knew  not  God — v/ho  have  left  the 
fame  of  their  genius,  with  their  pernicious 
writings  to  infed  pofterity— but,  who  ha\^e 
left  alio  their  errors,  and  contradi8ions  to 
be  added  to  the  innumerable  proofs  v/hich 


•**#- 


Caiifes  of  lnfiddiiy\  3 1 

every  age  has  furniflicd  of  the  weaknefs  and 
uncertainty  of  human  reafon  on  all  fubjcfts 
of  divine  and  moral  fcience,  when  not  illu- 
minated by  the  fpint  of  God.  Thefe  inge- 
nious enemies  of  the  gofpel,  however,  have 
been  men  of  wit  rather  than  of  profound 
talents.  Their  prejudices  have  led  them  to 
examine  the  queilion  of  its  truth  on  one 
fide  only.  They  have  been  willing  to  fee 
nothing  but  prefumptions  againft  religion. 
Dillinguiihcd  more  by  the  powers  of  the 
imagination  than  by  thofe  of  the  under- 
(landing,  you  find  thim,  v/here  they  ought 
to  be  moil  ferious  and  grave,  indulging  a 
perpetual  vein  of  ridicule  and  wit.  1  he 
moll^  philofophic  of  modern  infidels  has 
confelfed  that  his  metaphifical  fubtleties 
are  not  calculated  to  produce  a  clear  and 
fettled  conviction  of  their  truth  in  the 
mind.'-  The  inaccuracy  of  Voltaire  in  hif-_ 
tory  and  antiquities,  fo  neceffary  tojuilex- 

*  Mr.  Hume,  after  endeavouring,  with  great  ingenuity, 
to  annihilate  both  the  material  and  the  Spiritual  world,  as  they 
are  ufually  underllcod,  and  to  cftablifh  the  principle  that 
uoihincr  exiils  in  the  vmiverfe  but  vaiious  and  fucceffive  trains 
tif  ideas,  aclaiowledgcs  that,  although  lie  could  find  no  reafons 
fufficiently  lolid  to  overthrow  what  he  ha.1  advanced,  yet,  he 
could  not  act  upon  his  own  c&nclu'ions,  ncr,  at  all  tinics, 
viold  iheni  a  clear  and  unwavering  alkut. 


32  Caitfes  of  Lifidclily. 

amination  of  the  authenticity  of  religion,  is 
ahiiod  proverbial.  Thefe  fubjefts  he  con- 
iidered  as  hardly  worthy  the  attention  of  an 
author  whofe  fame  depended  folely  on  his 
wit.f — But,  fepa rated  from  his  faults,  what 
is  he,  or  the  moil:  famous  patrons  of  an  in- 
fidel pliilofophy,  compared  with  the  New- 
tons,  the  Boyles,  the  Clarkes,  the  VVarbur- 
tons,  the  Lockes,  the  Feneloos,  the  Rollins, 
the  Pafcals,  and  all  that  endlefs  lifl:  of  great 
names,  diiiinguiihed  equally  for  genius  and 
for  piety,  who  have  appeared  as  the  friends 
of  religion,  and  have  brought  the  moll  pro- 
found and  illuilrious  talents  as  a  voluntary 
oileiiiig  to  the  foot  of  the  crofs. 

But  thefe  difcourfss  have  ghiefly  in  view 
a  clafs  of  men  very  difierent  from  the  fpe- 

■j-  Thomas  Paine,  ia  that  booh  of  his  entitled  T!:c  Jjpe  of 
RciipjTiy  iiiiiiiitely  exceeds  Mr.  Voltaire  in  hiilorical  and  criti- 
cal inaccuracy.  He  has  a  certain  fprightlinefs  of  manner 
arid  boldnefs  of  allertion  %vhich  diilinguilh  him ;  but  fo  to- 
tally defecrive  is  he  in  point  of  erudition,  that  in  no  other 
country  but  this,  where  tliere  is  much  fuperficial  reading,  but 
little  folid  and  extenlive  learning,  could  his  work  have  ob- 
tained any  currency.  Thole  parts  of  it  which  have  any  ap- 
pearar.cc  of  realoning  he  has  borrowed  almoft  wholly  from 
Mr.  Boulanger.  For  the  reft,  it  ib  made  up  of  the  hulf-re- 
membered  ideas  cf  his  childhood,  of  indigcfted  criticiiins 
picked  up  in  a  Icofe  reading,  and  of  the  moft  palpable  vio- 
lations uf  Liltorical  truth. 


Cavfes  of  L-ifiddtty.  33 

dilative  and  ingenious  unbelivers  who  have 
jull  been  named — a  clals  to  be  met  v/ith 
in  moil  faJ  ionable  circles,  and,  every 
where,  among  the  fraatterers  in  knowledge, 
who  are  merely  the  apes  of  the  former. 
I  mean  thofe  men  of  pleafure,  who  are 
enemies  to  religion,  becaufc  religion  is  an 
enemy  to  their  vices — who  never  have  exa- 
mined the  luminous  and  refpeclable  evi- 
dence on  vv4iich  the  gofpel  refts — who  fpeak 
with  confidence  of  what  they  do  not  know, 
and  blafphem.e  Vv'hat  they  do  not  underftand 
— the  delight  of  the  frivolous  and  vain,  the 
oracles  of  the  ignorant — who  retail  among 
their  companions  objetiions  againft  religion 
with  which  they  have  been  furnilhed  by  a 
loofe  and  defultory  reading,  or  which  have 
palled  from  mouth  to  mouth  among  the  li- 
bertine and  profligate  till  they  have  become 
vulgar  and  dale.  A  great  preacher^*  has 
happily  called  them  the  echoes  of  infidelity, 
v/ho  juft  repeat  the  blafphemies  which  they 
have  heard  from  others — The  mere  oro-ans 
of  impiety  who  fc rve  to  convey  its  tradi- 
tions from  one  race  to  another. 

*  MatTiilon. 


g^  Caufes  of  Infidelity. 

To  attack  doclrines  that  have  flood  the 
t^Il  of  fo  many  ages — that  have  been  illuf- 
trated  by  the  greateft  writers  with  the  mod 
luminous  evidence,  and  eftabliflied  on  the 
moil  fohd  foundations — ^that  have  counted 
among  their  fubmilhve  difciples  men  of  the 
moft  liluflrious  characlers,   and  the   mod 
profound  learning  who  have  eileemed  their 
obedience  to  the  faith  their  chief  glory — 
doftrines  that  have  commanded  the  homage 
of  the  wifed  as  well   as  the  moll  powerful 
of  mankind,  would  require  uncommon  ge- 
nius and  erudition,  deep  refleclion,  and  ex- 
tenfive  refearch.     Is  this  the  charafter  of 
thofe    forward   and  conceited  youth  who 
preach  infidelity  in  the  circles  of  their  liber- 
tine  companions — who  declaim  with  pert- 
nefs  on  the  credulity  of  the  vulgar,  and  the 
craft  of  the  priefthood — who  are  ever  ready 
to  jell  on  the  fubjeft  of  religion,  and  aim, 
by  an  impious  effrontery,   at  a  reputation 
for  wit  which  nothing  but  tlie  ignorance  of 
their  hearers  can  afcribe  to  them  ?     No, 
they  are  men  of  fuperficial  talents,  too  much 
devoted   to   their   pleafures   to  think.     It 
would  be  doing  them  too  much  honor  to 
fble  them  Theiits,  or  Atheifis,  or,  indeed, 
to  call  them  by  any  name  that  implies  a 


Caufes  of  Infidelity.  Sj 

fvftcm  of  principles.  Their  limited  know- 
Irdoe  is  fuMicient  only  to  embavrars  then- 
minds  with  diiticulties  on  the  fubjed  of  re- 
licrion,  not  to  furniih  their  folut ion— to  cre.- 
afe  doubts  not  to  ailord  certainty. 

Their  doubts   are   accompanied  with  a 
diOionelTy  of  mind  that  does  not  wiQi  ta 
have  them  refolved.     They  form,  a  conve- 
nient protetlion  for  their  vices,  which  every 
approach  to  the  truth  ferves  to  difquietand 
fill  with  apprehenlions.     They  hate  tac  light; 
neither  come  they  to  the  light,  left  their  deecb 
fhould  be  reproved.     Far  from  feeking  ^for 
real  and  folid  information,  v/hrch,  it  tiiey 
were  fincere,  they  could  not  fail  to  obtain, 
on  a  fubjed  enlightened  by  the  labours  of 
fo  many  pious  and  excellent  writers,  then: 
only  itudy  is  to  Uiun  conviclion. 

One  knows  not,  at  fome  times,  whether 
mod  to  pity,  or  be  amufed  at  men  of  this 
dercription.  when  they  alfea  to  reprefent 
relipion  as  a  pious  prejudice,  and  to  re- 
proach the  credulity  of  the  believing  multi- 
tude. Is  there  no  credulity,  are  there  no 
prejudices  attached  to  impiety?  Alas! 
can  any  prejudices  be   fo  llrong  as  thofe 


3 5  Caufcs  of  Infidelity. 

formeci  by  the  padions  again (1  die  truth  ? 
as  thofe  with  which  vice  combats  religion  ? 
Can  any  credulity  be  more  abilird  and 
weak  than  that  which  is  often  dilplayed  by 
the  enemies  of  rehpion  when  their  aim  is  to 
depreciate  the  chara61er  of  a  good  man,  or 
when  they  think  they  have  found  a  tale  that 
will  militate  againil.  the  facred  hiftory  ? 
Nor  is  this  confined  alone  to  thofe  pert,  il- 
literate fools  who  exciie  your  contempt, 
while  they  provoke  yourlioneil  indignation 
— this  diio-raceful  blot  flains  the  rcDutation 

O  A 

of  writers  of  the  p-reateii  name  who  have 
enlifted  themfclves  among  the  champions 
of  impiety/'^  1  he  flibles  of  nurfes  and  of 
children  are  not  more  ridiculous  than  the 
narrations  that  have  been  gravely  made, 
and  the  fiftions  that  have  been  aifuraed  by 
philofopliers  to  contradict  the  Mofaic  fyf- 
tem  of  the  worlds  and  of  the  oriinn  of  man. f 


*  liaac  Vcfflus,  the  famous  grammarian,  was  fo  remark- 
able for  his  creduhtv  and  his  infidelity,  that  king  Charles 
cnce  wittily  faid  of  him,  "  There  is  nothing  you  cannot 
make  that  man  beheve  except  his  Bible." 

f  In  lord  Kaims'  Sketches  of  Man,  and  lord  Monboddo 
on  The  origin  of  Languages,  may  be  feen  fome  very  extraor- 
dinnry  relations  of  ignorant  travellers,  and  fome  moft  abfurd 
fictions  adopted  in  order  to  difcredit  the  Mcfaic  account  of 
the  primitive  ftate  of  human  nature,  and  the  unity  of  the 
huaBan  race.  Becaufe  Moles  has  iniormed  us  that  the  v/orld,  at 


CdXiJcs  of  Infidelity,  §7 

And  the  moil  celebrated  v/it  of  modern 
times,*  if  he  can,  by  ranging  through  anti- 
quity, find  one  fable  more  improbable  than 
another,  its  certain  recommendation,  and 
title  to  belief,  is  its  inconhilency  with  the 
hiftory  of  the  bible. 

firft,  was  a  chaotic  mafs  covered  with  water,  MonHcur  Bail- 
ly,  that  he  may  recede  from  him  as  far  as  poffible,  has  fup- 
pofed,  in  his  letters  to  Voltaire,  that  it  was  originally  a  ball 
of  iire  ftruck  off  from  the  fun  by  the  impulfe  of  a  comet,  and 
that  it  has,  in  an  almolt  infinite  fucceffion  of  ages,  been  gra- 
dually cooling,  and  becoming  a  fit  habitation  for  man,  and 
tliat  the  iird  habitable  fpots  were  at  the  poles.  If  this  had 
been  a  tenet  of  religion,  how  would  fuch  a  philofopher  as 
Monfieur  Bailly  have  received  it? 

.  *  Mr.  Voltaire,  you  find  in  him  every  where  the  moft  in- 
congruous relations,  and  the  moft  palpable  contradiJiicns  en 
the  fubjccl  of  religion.  See  letters  addrej^d  to  hhn  by  certain 
^Jjvjs  for  many  examples  of  this  kind..  To  the  lift  of  credu- 
lous or  fanciful  writers  Mr.  Volney  may  very  fairly  be  ad- 
ded, if  Indeed  he  believed  his  own  fiftions,  and  did  not  ra- 
ther value  himfelf  on  making  tlie  moll  extravagant  fuppofi- 
tions,  only  that  he  might  make  a  great  oifplay  of  learning  in 
fupporting  them.  This  author,  eftimable  as  an  hiftorian, 
immediately  becomes  vifionary  as  an  anti-religionift.  This 
charge  v/ill  be  fully  eftablilhed  in  the  m.ind  of  every  candid 
and  judicious  reader  who  fhall  examine  his  attempt  to  prove 
the  chriftian  religion  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  corrupted 
worihip  of  the  fun — and  that  the  hiilory  of  the  Innocence 
and  fall  of  man,  of  the  woman,  the  temptation,  tlie  ferpent, 
and  the  curfe,  is  only  an  aftronomical  hieroglyphic  of  the 
Egyptian  prleils  to  fignify  fpring,  fummer,  autamn,  ani 
winter,  and  the  conllellations  that  prefide  over  thefe  feafons. 
iJee  his  Ruir.s  of  Palmyra — If  chrillianity  were  obliged  to 
have  recourfe  to  fuch  incredible  fuppofitions  to  fupport  the 
hiftory  of  the  fcriptures,  what  a  triumph  would  it  afford  t<j 
unbelievers ! 


33  Caufes  of  Infulelily, 

Chriflians  are  reproached  for  receiving 
their  religion  by  inheritance,  and  embrac- 
ing their  faith  on  the  ground  only  of  autho- 
rity. How  juftly  may  the  charge  of  (hame- 
fiil  dependence  on  autliority  be  retorted  on 
the  crowd  of  unbelievers  who  never  exa- 
mine for  themfelves  the  foundations  of  reU- 
gioii,  but,  wilhing  only  to  find  it  falfe,  and 
not  able  to  rely  on  their  own  judgment, 
apree  to  pay  homage  to  the  wit  and  under- 
ftandin?  of  a  few  enemies  to  the  crofs  of 
Chriil  wliofe  talents  they  admire,  and  make 
them  alone  the  oracles  of  their  faith.  Per- 
haps, v/ithout  talents,  they  have  nothing  to 
recommend  them  but  a  fprightly  libertinifm, 
and  a  confident  manner.  Perhaps  they  do 
not  really  believe  the  principles  which 
vauntingly  they  profefs — Fofhbly,  their  own 
hearts  mifgive  them  while  they  utter  their 
blafphemies ;  but,  covered  with  an  impof- 
jng  air,  ihey  deceive  and  feduce  the  ignorant 
who  look  for  example  only  to  juftify  their 
unbelief,  and,  like  the  timid  and  the  feeble, 
draw  ail  their  couraare  from  the  confidence 
of  Others.  Such  are  the  apoiUes  and  pro- 
phets of  impiety  !  and  fuch  their  weak  and 
implicit  difciples ! 


Caiifes  of  Infodelity.  39 

Admitting  that  the  great  body  of  believ- 
ers derive  their  faith  from  education,  who, 
I  pray  you,  merits  the  reproach  of  the  moil 
dilhonorable  credulity  ?  He  v/ho  fuffers 
his  religious  principles  to  be  influenced  by 
the  opinions  of  his  country — by  the  inftruc- 
tions  of  parents  foiicitous  for  his  virtue  and 
happineis — by  the  venerable  authority  of 
ages — by  the  example  of  the  beft  and  wifefl 
men  in  every  age — by  the  gravity  and  fa- 
crednefs  of  the  church  the  faithful  depofita- 
ry  and  guardian  of  piety  and  morals  ?  Cr 
he  who  adopts  his  opinions  from  libertines 
and  debauchees — from  the  idle,  the  diflb- 
lute,  and  the  vain — from  men,  perhaps 
equally  ignorant,  but,  only,  poffeffing  m.ore 
efirontery  than  himfelf  ? — Alas !  how  often 
does  the  corruption  of  principle,  as  well  as 
of  manners,  which  is  the  difgrace  of  fo  many 
youth  of  the  prefent  age,  fpring  merely  from 
the  force  of  vicious  example  on  the  weak 
and  ignorant — from  immoral  maxims,  from 
ridiculous  anecdotes,  from  loofe  fentiments 
fported  without  thought,  in  a  moment  of 
levity,  by  m.en  diflinguiihed  for  no  talent,  ex- 
cept an  impofing  vivacity,  and  of  no  fcience 
except  what  they  have  picked  up  in  the 
fchool  of  iibertinifm?  Ah!  if  falfe  fcience 


40  Caufes  of  Infidelity. 

has  deflroyed  her  thoufands,  ignorance  has 
deilroyed  her  tens  of  thoufands — An  igno- 
rance that  is  increafin^  more  and  more  in 
proportion  as  hixury  and  diffipation  dege- 
nerate our  manners,  and  check  the  progrefs 
of  fohd  and  ufeful  improvement. 

This  charafter,  fo  dilgraceful  as  well  as 
criminal,  ought  to  reprefs  that  idle  and 
contemptible 

III.  Vanity  which  I  have  flated,  in  tlie 
lad  place,  as  another  caufe  of  that  ambi- 
tious infidelity  that  no  longer  retires  from 
fight,  but  boldly  obtrudes  its  deformity  and 
crimes  on  the  public  view. 

Vanity  !  Can  man  be  vain  of  degrading 
his  nature,  and  finking  it  to  the  level  of  the 
brutes  that  perifii— of  quenching  that  ce- 
lefiial  fpark  which  the  Creator  hath  enkin- 
dled in  his  bofom — of  effacing  from  the 
mind  the  glorious  and  confolatory  idea  of 
God — of  deilroying  the  eternal  fource  of 
order  and  beauty  in  the  univerfe — of  extin- 
gu^fhing  the  fublime  and  blefled  hope  of 
immortality — of  digging  for  himfeif  the 
fearful  grave  of  everlafting  oblivion  ?  Yes ; 


Caujes  of  Injiddify.  41 

we  fee  the  monflirous  fpirit  of  infidelity  af- 
fume  a  deplorable  honor  to  itfelf  from  cau- 
fes  that  (hould  expel  it  with  horror  from 
fociety,  and  forever  cover  it  with  difgrace 
in  tlTe  opinion  of  the  virtuous  and  wife. 

1.  Vanity  prompts  fome  conceited  and 
injudicious  youth  to  make  a  difplay  of  im- 
pious principles,  becaufe  they  are  fuppofed 
to  carry  with  them  a  genteel  air.  Fleafure 
being  almoil  the  univerfal  purfait,  the  prin- 
ciples that  afford  it  a  protection,  and  fcreen 
it  from  the  reproaches  of  reafon,  and  the 
cenfure  of  confcience,  meet,  in  all  circles, 
too  favorable  an  attention.  That  man  is 
aflured  of  being  well  received,  who  can 
infmuate  ideas  of  loofe  pleafure  with  inge- 
nuity, and  make  their  apology  with  fpright- 
linefs.  And,  fo  depravid  have  manners  be- 
come, that  he  who  aims  to  be  a  fafhionable 
man,  too  often  finds  it  contribute  to  his  fuc- 
cefs,  in  the  circles  of  vvcalth  and  idlenefs, 
to  mingle  his  converfation  with  a  feafoning 
of  impiety.  When  fafiiion  has  fo  far  mi f- 
placed  its  approbation,  a  crowd  of  weak 
young  men,  ambitous  to  difplay  their  parts, 
go  even  beyond  what  fafiiion  requires.  In 
order  to  provoke  the  lau^rhter,  and  attract 
'  G     ° 


42  Cdufes  of  Infidelity. 

tlie  admiration  of  the  thoughtlefs  and  the 
diflblute  they  dare  indecently  to  trifile  with 
whatever  is  mod  venerable  and  holy,  and  to 
violate  the  moft  facred  myfteries  with  a  pro- 
fane tongue.  Deceived  by  the  pleafantry 
which  they  excite  where  they  ought  to 
meet  with  nothing  but  indignation  or  con- 
tempt, they  mifconflrue  petulance  into  wit, 
and  hold  themfelves  to  be  men  of  talents 
when  they  are  only  impudent  men. 

2.  Their  vanity  is  apt  to  affume  a  merit 
to  itfelf  for  thinking  differently  from  the  reft 
of  mankind.     In  an  age  in  v/hich-  manners 

o 

are  not  yet  totally  depraved,  the  mafs  of 
the  people  refpe6t  religion.  The  fentiments 
of  piety  are  written  by  the  hand  of  nature 
at  the  bottom  of  the  human  heart,  and  noth- 
ing but  extreme  vice,  or  the  pride,  and  the 
falfe  refinements  of  fpeculation  can  efface 
them.  Inftitutions  v/hich  the  world  vene- 
rates, thefe  m.en  claim  amiferable  glory  from 
defpiling.  W  hat  is  common  has,  with  them, 
an  air  of  vulgarity ;  and,  in  the  efteem  of 
fools,  they  (hew  a  fuperiority  of  underftand- 
ing  while  they  infult  the  opinions  of  their 
country,  and  the  world.  Weak  minds 
are  apt  to  imagine  that  they  recommend 


Caufcs  of  liifideliLy.  43 

their  fpirit,  and  their  courage  by  fpurning 
at  the  fears  which  influence  other  men. 
The  awful  confiderations  of  a  future  judg- 
ment and  future  retribution,  they  affetl  to 
repjefent  as  imaginary  terrors.  And,  fre- 
quently, a  good  man  muil  fee  with  pity  the 
felf-complacent  vanity  with  which  ignorant 
and  petulant  young  men  regard  their  own 
wifdom  and  fortitude  for  having  delivered 
themfelves  from  all  the  impreihons  of  a  pi- 
ous education,  and  torn  off  the  fliackles  of 
religious  fear.  Alas !  what  a  reverfe  of 
abject  fear,  and  of  horrible  defpair  (hall 
overwhelm  them,  when  the  fupreme  judge 
fhall  come  to  awaken  them  from  this  vam 
dream — when  he  (liall  unfettle  all  their 
falfe  and  criminal  principles  by  the  flroke 
of  afflitlion — when  he  {hall  difmay  them  b}^ 
the  terrors  of  his  juilice — when  the  abyfs  of 
eternity,  opening  upon  their  viev/,  difclofes 
thofe  dreadful  realities  ^vhich,  in  the  day,s 
of  their  folly,  they  had  defpifed  ;  and  fliews 
beneath  them  no  fupport  from  the  promi- 
•  fes  of  divine  grace,  or  the  hopes  of  a  better 
life! 

3.  Another  claim  to  be  vain  they  found 
on  the  fancied  referabiancc  v/hich  they  Ik^o/l- 


44  Caiifcs  of  Infuleliiy, 

to  certain  men  of  dillins^uifhed  sjenius  who 
have  unhappily  proilitutcd  their  talents 
to  the  Tervice  of  impiety  and  vice.  By 
quoting  names  which  fcience  hath  confe- 
crated,  they  hope  to  attach  themfelves  to 
their  glory,  and  to  derive  an  honor  from 
thinking  like  them.  That  there  ha\  e  been 
unbelievers  of  penetrating  minds,  and  po- 
liflied  wit,  I  am  not  difpofed  to  deny — nor 
can  it  be  denied  on  the  other  hand,  that 
men  deiiitute  boih  of  wit  and  penetration 
are  continually  alictiing  a  vain  reputation 
from  being  able  only  to  retail  their  max- 
ims. Hume  !  Rouffeau !  how  many  vain 
conceited  youth  have  you  contributed  to 
deftroy  !  Your  writings*^*  Itili  continue  to 
diffufe  a  baneful  poifon  through  fociety  ! 
Oh !  fatal  talents !  that  have  produced  fo 
many  ambitious  imitators  afpiring  to  re- 
femble  you,  but  who  can  refemble  you  in 
nothing  but  your  crimes  ! 

Such  are  the  motives  that  commonly  in- 
cline men  to  the  fide  of  inhdelity.     In  pro- 

*  Thofe  writings  that  were  immediately  diredted  againft 
the  iuterefts  of  piety,  and  the  foundations  of  revealed  reli- 
gion. For  the  reil,  they  are  always  ingenious,  and  Hume, 
in  particular,  generally  ufeful. 


Caiifes  of  Injiddity,  43 

portion  as  a  man  is  virtuous,  chafte,  tempe- 
rate,  modeft,  profoundly  aftedcd  with  the 
difplays  of  divine  intelhgence  and  goodnefs 
in  the  ilructure  of  the  univerfe,  and  pene- 
trated with  the  dutiful  fentiments  that  be- 
come a  creature,  to  the  Creator,  and  that 
are  fo  honorable  to  human  nature,  will  he 
be  difpoled  to  embrace  the  principles,  and 
to  become  the  friend  of  religion — iJut,  if  he 
is  ignorant,  vain,  lewd,  intemperate,  profli- 
gate— here  is  a  prepared  foil  ready  to  re- 
ceive the  feeds  of  impiety.  Ah  !  are  thefe 
the  grounds  on  which  unbelievers  boafi  the 
ilrength  of  their  minds  ?  Are  they  grounds 
that  will  fupport  the  Iblid  fabric  of  truth  ? 

Thefe  difcourfes  I  fliall  now  conclude 
with  a  few  refleftions  addrefi'ed  to  young 
perfons,  and  efpecially,  to  the  iludious 
youth  in  this  allembly. 

In  this  precious  and  critical  period  of  life 
your  habits,  and  your  principles  are  both 
to  be  formed.  Thefe  have  fuch  a  recipro- 
cal connexion  and  influence,  that,  if  you 
fuffer  yourfelves  to  be  feduced  by  pleafure, 
you  are  in  hazard  of  plunging  into  impiety. 
Urged  by  the  ardor  of  paiiions  that  are  juil 


46  Caiifes  of  Irjidclity. 

beginning  to  unfold  ihemfelves — flattered 
by  hope  which,  as   yet,   has  feldom  diiap- 
pointed  you — expofed  to  the  example,  and 
the  folicitations  of  the  thourfitlefs  and  the 
dilTipated — and  without  experience  to  cau- 
tion-or  direft  you,    you   are  encompafled 
with  dangers,  not  the  IcaR  of  which  is  that 
of  adoptmg  falfe  maxims  of  conduft,  and 
faife   principles  on  the  fubjcft  of  religion. 
You  are  in  danger  from  companions,,  and 
you  are  in  danger  from  books. — The  pro- 
penhties  of  your  age  expofe  you  to  com- 
panions who,  in  the  purfuit  of  pleafure,  have 
caft  of  the  fear,  and   alinolt  the  remem- 
brance of  God.     You  will  fee   realized  a- 
mono'  them  all  thofe  caufes  to  which  I  have 
afcribed  the  prevalence  of  impious  princi- 
ples.    But,  while  )^ou  fee  them,  you  are  in 
hazard  of  being  infected  by  them.     Power- 
ful is  the  contagion  of  vicious  lympathy  ; 
and  the  ardent  inclinations  to  pleafure,  the 
limited  knowledge,  the  unripened  prudence 
of  youth,  often  expofe  them  as  an  eafy  prey 
to Jediicers  who  he  in  wait  to  deceive.     Avoid 
thofe  dangerous  companions  who  make  a 
'mock  of  Jin;  and,  above  all,  thofe  who  not 
only  fay  in  their  heart  there  is  no  God,  but, 
.^^'hc  are  vain  of  their  folly,  and  proclaim 


Caufes  of  Infidelity.  47 

their  impiety  with  a  brazen  front.  Thefe 
adminilter  to  young  minds  the  mod  fatal 
poifon — more  dangerous  than  contagion 
and  the  peftilence,  they  draw  after  them  a 
mighty  train  of  ruin.  Beginning  only  with 
apologies  for  your  propenfities,  they  flop 
not  till  tliey  have  whelmed  you  in  the 
dreadful  gulph  of  impiety. 

You  are  in  danger  from  books.  Thofe 
writers  are  firft  apt  to  catch  the  youthful  at- 
tention, that  pleafe  by  a  certain  brilliancy 
and  wit,  that  agitate  the  heart,  and  taint  the 
imagination.  Thofe  efpecially  feem  to  be 
fought  after,  at  the  prcfent  period,  with 
peculiar  zeal,  that  attempt  to  (hake  the 
foundations  of  religion,  and,  by  removino- 
the  idea  of  God,  and  of  his  holy  infpettion 
and  government  from  the  univerfe,  relax 
the  ties  of  moral  obligation,  and  give  an 
unrellrained  licence  to  the  palTions.  In 
your  choice  of  books  let  folidity  and  truth 
be  their  principal  recommendation.  Thefe 
will  always  be  ibund  favourable  to  fincere 
piety,  and  to  good  morals.  Check  that 
forward  prefumption,  fo  natural  to  youth, 
of  early  thinking  that  you  are  wife.  No 
quality  can  be  mere  an  enemy  to  virtue. 


48  Caufes  of  Infidelity, 

and  to  every  fubftantial  and  ufeful  improve- 
ment ;  or  more  certainly  lead  to  vice  and 
infignificance  of  charatter. — Let  it  be  your 
firlt  and  fupreme  concern  to  examine  the 
truth,  and  underlland  the  excellence  of  re- 
vealed religion.  I  am.  far  from  requiring 
you  to  be  implicit  believers.  Religion  has 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  moft  faithful  and 
rigorous  fcrutiny.  It  fufPers  only  from  par- 
tial and  fuperlicial  inquiries.  Enter  into 
this  invelligation  with  an  honeft  love  of 
truth,  and  with  a  fincere  determination  to 
embrace,  and  to  obey  it,  wherever  it  may 
be  found,  and  however  felf-denying  may  be 
the  duties  it  prefcribes.  Ruinous  and  fatal 
will  be  the  errors  into  which  you  w^ll  fall, 
if,  on  this  momentous  fubjeft,  you  content 
yourfelves  with  a  hally  furvey,  or,  only  feek 
for  evidence  againft  the  gofpel,  and  in  fa- 
vour of  your  palfions. 

What  can  concern  you  fo  highly  as  to 
know  if  you  are  immortal  beings,  or,  if  you 
have  no  higher  hope  than  to  mingle  again 
with  the  clods  of  the  earth  in  eternal  filence 
— If  God  is  j'lift  to  take  vengeance  on  fin — or, 
if  all  things  come  alike  to  all  men,  and  there 
fhall,  at  laft,  be  no  difference  between  the 


Caufes  of  Infidelity,  49 

righteous  and  the  wicked— If  there  is  a 
Saviour  who  takdh  axoay  fin  by  the  Jacnfice 
of  himfdf;  or,  if,  according  to  the  holy 
fcriptures,  the  impenitent  hnner  mud  fmk 
down  to  everlalting  defpair  covered  with 
all  the  horrors  of  unexpiated  guilt  ?  All 
other  inquiries  ftiould  be  poilponed  to  theie. 
They  regard  not  only  your  prefent  peace, 
but  your  eternal  intereils — Not  the  lioiior 
that  comethfrom  men,  but  that  which  comeih 
from  God, 

Let  not  any  of  you  imagine   that,  be- 
caufe  you  may  not  chufe  the  holy  miniilry 
for  your  profeilion  in  future  life,  the  truth 
or  the  practice  of  religion  may  be  of  lefs 
importance  to  you  than  to  others.     This  is 
prefering  decency  of  charatter  to  the  dif- 
eharge  of  your   duly.     Befidcs,   although 
true  piety  may  be  Id's  efiential  to  one  pro- 
fejjion  than  to  another ;  yet,  remember,  and 
may  the  fpirit  of  truth  v;rite   it  indelibly 
in  your  hearts,  it  is  equally  necelfary  to  you 
all  as  you  are  vien — ;as  you  are  immortal — 
as  you  are  accountable  to  God — as  you  are 
to  receive  your  evcrlaiiing  delliny  from  his 
juftice   according  to  the   deeds  you  have 
done  in  the  body. — But,  abiiraHing  from 

H 


50  Caiifes  of  Infidelity, 

the  confideraiions  oi^  a  future  exigence,  re- 
ligion will  form  your  highefl  ornament,  and 
your  moil  refpeftable  charafter,  in  whate- 
ver flation  you  maybe  placed  in  life.  The 
reputation  of  fincere  religion  is  fitted  to 
attract  confidence  and  honor  from,  mankind 
— What  a  luflre  does  virtue  fncd  upon 
confpicuous  talents !  How  amiable  will 
fortune,  or  rank,  or  whatever  may  elevate 
you  hereafter  above  your  fellow-citizens, 
appear,  if  it  be  adorned  w^ith  that  piety 
which  makes  all  m.en  equal  again  by  the' 
benevolence  and  humility  of  its  fpirit ! 
"  Godlinefs  is  profitable  to  all  things,  hav- 
ing the  promii'e  of  the  life  that  nov/  is,  and 
ot  that  v/hich  is  to  come." 

This  fubjecl  I  have  chofen,  not  from  any 
apprehenfion  that  the  cenfures  which  are 
due  to  impiety  and  vice  are  merited  by 
you ;  but  from  my  knowledge  of  the  pre- 
fent  ftate  of  manners,  and  the  prefent  fafti- 
ions  of  opinion.  In  proportion  as  our 
manners  daily  degenerate,  irreligion  in  prin- 
ciple more  and  more  prevails.  All  moral 
and  religious  opinions,  except  thofe  that  are 
fixed  by  revelation,  are  in  a  ftate  of  perpe- 
tual iiux  and  m.utability.     They  have  their 


Cazifes  of  Infmdiiy,  51 

^fhions  and  pafs  away.  This  is  the  age  of 
iniidel  and  licentious  principles  in  their 
moll  extravagant  Ihapes ;  and  the  age  to 
come  will  look  back  witli  ailoniihment  at 
the  lolly  and  madnefs  of  the  prefent.  Will 
you  riik  your  falvation  on  a  foundation  To 
unfound  and  falfe  ?  Confider  the  awful 
interelts  that  depend  on  the  decihon  which 
you  fcrni  on  the  fubjecl  of  religion.  Exa- 
mine into  its  reality,  and  the  riglit  v/hich  it 
claims  to  command  your  obedience,  witli 
all  the  ferioufnefs  which  eternity  requires. 
It  is  a  high  claim  that  comes  to  you  in  the 
name  of  God,  and  in  the  name  of  your  own 
immortal  interefls.  The  JggI  ?1ovlq  fays  in 
his  heart  there  is  no  God  to  obferve  his  con- 
duft,  and  to  punifh  his  vices,  and  denies  a 
truth  that  is  borne  vvith  fuch  evidence  on 
the  whole  face  of  nature,  and  written  in 
fuch  legible  charafters  on  the  whole  courfe 
of  providence.  For  this  crime  doth  the 
judge  of  all  the  earth,  at  this  moment,  feem 
to  be  puniihing  the  world,  and,  at  the  fame 
time,  hardening  their  hearts  that  they  lliould 
not  difcern  the  caule  of  their  calamities. — 
Eternal  Spirit  of  Truth  !  rebuke  the  nations 
in  mercy  !  Dcftroy  the  dark  fpirit  of  athe- 
ifm  the  offspring:  and  the  n^rH-  o^  on  ^^^^t  ^ 


52  Caufes  of  Infidelity. 

Illuminate!  penetrate  our  hearts  with  the 
facred  principles  of  piety  and  virtue  !  Re- 
veal '  in  our  hearts  Cknjl  Jefus  the  Iwpe  of 
glory  !  And  halien  the  bleficd  moment 
when  thy  victorious  grace  {hall  fubdue  the 
vices,  the  errors,  and  the  paihons  of  all 
men  ;  and  righteoufnefs  fmll  cover  the  earth 
as  the  zvaters  cover  thefea  I 

AMEN  ! 


C    53    ] 
DISCOURSE     III. 

I       ON    THE    DANGERS    OF    PLEASURE. 


■Mcag^.'w' 


ECCLESIASTES    VII.    2. 

It  is  better  to  go  to  the  lioufe  of  mourning  than 
to  the  hoiife  of  feajling, 

ENSUAL  pleafures  are  among  the  moft 
danixerous  enemies  of  virtue.  The  na- 
tural  taiies  for  them  are  not  culpable,  and, 
within  moderate  limits,  happinels  demands 
them,  and  reafon  and  religion  permit  them. 
But,  ardent,  and  prone  to  excefs,  they  re- 
quire to  be  fubje6ied  to  a  prudent  and  holy 
vigilance,  and  to  be  indulged  with  caution 
and  circumfpection. — Conllant  pleafure  is 
not  to  be  expelled  here.  And  the  contin- 
ual or  excelTive  purfuit  of  it,  is  unbecoming 
our  Hate  in  this  world.  Our  path  is  che- 
quered w^ith  evil.  If  the  fanguine  but  (hort- 
fighted  hopes  of  youth  pifture  to  themfelves 


54  The  Dangers  of  Fleafurc, 

notliing  but  [lowers  in  their  progrefs,  they' 
will  foon  be  pierced  with  its  thorns.  If  we 
look  round  us,  we  v/ill  fee  misfortune,  pain, 
and  death  imprelling  their  melancholy 
flamp  on  all  the  bed  enjoym.ents  of  human 
life.  This  vale  of  tears,  after  a  hiort  and 
uncertain  courfe,  leads  to  the  grave,  in 
which  we,  and  all  our  fellow-travellers  {hall 
be  fuccefiiveiy  fwaliowed  up.  It  is  then  the 
part  of  wifdom,  ferioufiy  to  confider  our 
iiate,  and  frequently  to  look  forward,  and 
be  prepared  for  the  folemn  and  intereiling 
clofe  of  the  prefent'*Tcene.  Much  pleafure 
is  unfriendly  to  ferious  refleciion.  It  dilTi- 
pates  the  heart.  It  engages  it  in  frivolous 
purfuiis,  and  too  often  hnks  it,  at  laft,  in 
low  and  criminal  enjoyments.  Solid  wif- 
dom is  bed  drawn  from  the  fober  and 
thou^liful  fcenes  of  the  houfe  of  mourning;: 
for  there  we  learn  to  make  the  moft  juil 
eilimate  of  ourfelves  and  of  the  world. 

The  houfe  of  mourning,  and  the  hoife  of 
feafting  are  figurative  exprellions  periettiy 
in  the  eaftern  itile  defigned,  the  former,  to 
fignify  thofe  aliiictions  that  call  for  the 
fympathy  and  commiferation  of  the  hu- 
mane and  good ;"  the  latter,  all  higli  plea- 


TJie  Dangers  ofPleafiire.  ^5 

lyres  of  the  fenfual  kind,  efpecially,  if  they 
are  accompanied  with  fcenes  of  feitivity. 

The  rnanner  in  which  the  facred  writer 
dates  the  com parifon  between  them,  flrong- 
ly  fuggells  the  dangerous  influence  of  pica- 
fure.     For,  however  gloomy   and  painful, 
efpecially  to  the  young  and  gay,  the  objefts 
may  be  that  are  prelcnted  in  the  houfe  of 
mourning:,  better  it  is  according;  to  him  to 
make  the  facrifices  which  we  muft  make  in 
converiing  with  them,    and   learning   the 
grave  and  ufeful  leffons  which  are  taught 
there,  than  to  expofe  the  frailty  of  "youth- 
ful virtue  to  the  flrcng  temptations  of  the 
houfe  of  fealting.     This  is  the  obfervation 
which  I  purpole  to  illullrate  and  prefs  in 
the  following  difcourfe.     For  although  the 
text  recommends  alfo  familiarity  with  thofe 
mournful  fcenes  that  call  forth  the  humane 
fympathies  of  the  heart,  and  invite  refleclion 
on  the  vanity  of  the  world ;  yet  it  equally 
conveys  the  inilru6tion  Vvhich  I  hc^ve  Itatcd. 
And  1  have  chcfen  to  confider  it  chiefly  in 
this  light,  becaufe  we  every  where  fee  plea- 
fure  acting  upon  the  young  with  fatal  pow- 
er, and  bcarmg  them  irrtllllibly  down  its 
iinpetuous  llream. 


56  The  Dangers  oJFleoJure. 

It  is  an  inflruftion  that  deferves  from 
you  the  higher  confideration,  becaufe  it 
comes  from  one  who  could  have  no  intereil 
to  reprefent  rcHgion  in  a  gloomy  light — 
who  was  not  a  difappointcd  miCanthrope 
railing  at  pleafures  which  lie  could  no  lon- 
ger taile,  nor  an  auftere  reclufe  condemning 
from  his  cell  enjoyments  which  he  had  ne- 
ver known.  He  was  a  man  acquainted 
with  the  world,  and  by  no  means  averfe 
from  pleafure.  He  had  even  purilied  it  to 
thofe  extremes  againil  which  he  knew  fo 
\7ell  to  caution  other  youth  :  and,  when  he 
wrote,  w^as  in  pofleRion  of  that  power  which 
gave  him  unlimited  command  of  it  in  every 
form  that  inclination  or  fancy  might  de- 
mand. Yet  this  is  the  author  who  cautions 
you  againft  its  dangers — for,  it  w  eakens  that 
watchfulnefs  and  guard  w^iich  a  Vvife  and 
good  ir^an  will  hnd  it  neceilary  always  to 
maintain  over  himfelf — it  lays  the  heart 
open  to  too  llrong  temptations — it  tends  to 
impair  the  fentiments  of  piety  towards  God 
■ — it  is  unfriendly  to  the  exercife  of  the  be- 
nevolent afieciions — it  enfeebles  the  prin- 
ciple of  felF-government — and  laflly,  it  is 
unfavourable  to  thofe  ferious  refieftions  on 
our  mortal  condition,  and  the  iniiabilitv  of 


The  Dangers  of  Pleojiire.  57 

human  things,  fo  ufeful  to  prepare  the  foul 
for  her  future  exillence,  and  her  immortal 
deftination. 

I.  Much  indulgence  in  pleafure  tends,  in 
the  firft  place,  to  weaken  that  v/atchfulnefs 
and  guard  which  a  wife  and  good  man  will 
find  it  neceffary  always  to  mamtain  over 
the  frailty  of  the  heart. 

The  heart,  w  hich  is  the  principle  of  all 
that  is  good  or  ill  in  man,  requires  the  moll: 
perfevcriiig  vigilance  to  guard  it  agaiiiflthe 
accefs  of  temptation.  A  habit  of  profound 
and  ferious  reliecuon  on  ourielves,  and  on 
the  real  (late  and  duties  of  life  is  necelfary 
to  impofe  a  conllanirein  upon  the  pafhons, 
and  to  corretl  the  illufions  by  which  fancy 
is  ahvays  ready  to  aid  the  errors  of  the 
heart.  The  fcenes  of  delight  prepared  in 
the  houfe  of  of  leading  are  little  calculated 
for  thefe  ends.  Reiiection  w'ould  mar  en- 
joyments that  depend  upon  the  levity  and 
riot  of  the  fpirits.  Pleafure  feldom  admits 
wifdom  of  her  party.  The  w-and  of  truth 
which  (he  carries  w'ould  deiiroy  all  thole 
unreal  images,  and  airy  vilions  with  which 
the    deluded    voluptuary    is    furrounded. 

i 


•58  The  Dangers  of  Pleafure. 

There  the  heart  is  thrown  loofe  from  re* 
itraint,  and  laid  open  to  the  lively  and 
warm  imprelTion  oF  every  feducing  idea, 
Gaity  circulates  from  breaii  to  breail,  and 
dilTipation  is  held  to  be  necellary  to  enjoy- 
ment. The  fenfes,  the  fancy,  the  pailions, 
ail  heated  and  inflamed,  hurry  it  away, 
deprived  aim  oil  of  the  power  of  refinance. 
*•  Keep  the  heart  with  all  diligence,  fays  the 
v/ife  moralift,  for,  out  of  it  are  the  iffues  of 
life."  And  a  ffood  man  v/iil  find  it  incum- 
bent  on  him,  in  partaking  even  of  the  moil 
moderate  plcafures,  to  exert  an  unceafmg 
fclf-command,  and  to  preferve  a  mind  al- 
ways collecled,  and  awake  to  the  fenti- 
ments  of  duty.  His  emotions  he  flnould 
obfervc  as  they  begin  to  rife,  he  Ihould  at- 
tentively remark  their  progrefs,  and  be  pre- 
pared to  reprcfs  their  firll  tendencies  to 
tranfgrefs  the  temperate  and  lawful  bound 
prefcribed  to  them  by  reafon,  and  religion. 
Examine  then  on  what  fide  you  are  weak- 
efl:  and,  moil  acceifible  to  evil — there  fix 
your  principal  guard.  When  the  heart  is 
guarded,  temptation  will  aflail  it  in  vain. 
But,  when  lulled  to  fecurity  by  the  foothings 
of  pleafure,  or  tranfported  beyond  itielf  by 
the  vivacity  of  its  Ic clings,  or  by  the  i'pright- 


The  Da ngo  \s  of  Pl cqj  ur^:.  rj  9 

iinefs  of  amurement,  it  is  ever  liable  to  be 
furprizcdand  overcome.  This  intermiiliou 
of  A'igilaiice  and  care  is  the  more  dangerous 
becauie  fo  feldoni  regarded  as  a  fault.  Men 
abandon  themielves  without  fufpicion  to 
the  fweet  neglei:!:,  and,  through  the  un- 
s^uarded  avenues  enter  a  multitude  of  ene- 
mies  who  were  only  Ivini^  in  v.  ait  for  this 
decifive  momenta 

Thefe   dangers    afrc6l    even  lav;ful   and 

o 

temperate  indulgences  in  pleafure.  I  fpeak 
not  here  of  thole  who  make  the  houle  oi 
feafting  a  fcene  of  riot — who  defignedly 
renounce  refledion — vrho  fit  dov/n  to  full- 
nefs  and  intoxication,  and  who  rife  to  lewd- 
nefs  and  diforder.  On  fuch  inilru6Hon 
would  be  loft.  To  them  diffolute  pleaiure 
has  done  more  than  break  down  the  fences 
of  the  heart,  it  has  deftroyed  the  heart  itfelf. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  fpeak  to  tiiofe  who 
enter  the  houfe  of  fealling  with  the  m.oft 
innocent  intentions — who  are  not  yet  pre- 
pared to  make  v/ar  upon  piety  and  decency; 
but,  who  are  not  fufficiently  acquainted 
with  the  frailty  of  the  heart,  and  the  force 
of  the  palFions.  Them  I  would  warn  of 
(irares  tliat  they  do  not  fufpe61,  and  of  dan- 


6o  The  Dangers  of  Pleafure. 

gers  that  may  furprife  them  before  they  are 
aware. 

II.  Pleafure  not  only  impau\s  the  guard 
which  a  wii'e  man  Ihould  conflantly  main- 
tain over  his  heart,  but  often  lays  it  open  to 
too  {trong  temptations. 

Temptation,  always  dangerous  to  the 
imperfecl  virtue  of  man,  is  peculiarly  fo  in 
the  houfe  of  fealling.  There  the  fenfes, 
and  the  paffions  become  excited,  and  fur- 
round  their  objefts  with  a  fedu6tive  colour- 
ing. The  glow  of  imagination  raifes  a  fpe- 
cies  of  inchantment  around  the  votary  of 
pleafure,  and  his  paOTions  are  growing  eve- 
ry moment  more  iiijpetuous  and  ungovern- 
able. 

A  good  man,  who  would  preferve  the 
purity  of  his  mind,  Ihould,  as  far  as  is  poffi- 
ble  for  human  prudence,  avoid  thofe  fcenes 
where  temptation  acquires  unufual  force  ; 
or  if,  fometimes  called  to  enter  them,  it  be- 
comes him  to  fummon  to  his  aid  reafon, 
experience,  and  all  the  power  of  pious  fen- 
timent,  to  prevent  the  hrli  incautious  wan- 
dering of  the  heart  and  fancy,  and  to  keep 


The  Dangers  of  Fieojiire.  6l 

them  clearly  within  that  dubious  limit  that 
fcparatcs  vice  from  virtue.  Approaching 
this  critical  point,  they  often  kindle  with  a 
fudden  and  unexpected  ardor,  and  hurry 
him  beyond  the  moderation  which  he  in- 
tended to  obferve.  One  imprudent  mdul- 
gence  invitee;  another — The  gates  of  the 
citadel  are  thrown  open,  and  in  rudi  an 
hoil  of  enemies.  Uf  this  David  affords  us 
an  inliruttive  and  afiiecting  example.  And 
we  ftiil  read  with  fympathy,  and  commife- 
ration  for  his  deep  arhiction,  the  hiilory  of 
that  pious  and  amiable  prince  waiofe  latter 
days  were  filled  with  bitterncfs  and  tears 
for  having  only  once  incautiouily  courted  a 
temiptation,  and  once  indulged  a  pleafure, 
to  which  he  was  tlrongly  mvited  by  the 
profperity  of  his  fortune. 

How  much  more  certainly  will  pleafure 
corrupt  thofe  who  enter  its  purlieus  without 
circumfpection,  and  expofe  themfelves  to  ail 
the  dangerous  force  of  thofe  tem.ptations 
that  meet  the  young  and  unwary  in  the 
houfe  of  feafting?  Here  example,  fympa- 
thy of  feeling,  the  arts  of  feduction,  all  the 
allurements  of  ingenuity,  all  the  decorations 
that  v/it  can  j^ive  to  vice,  unite  their  infiu- 


62  The  Dangers  of  Pleafure. 

ence  to  betray  the  heart.  Here  it  is  that- 
youth  fo  often  lay  afide  their  early  fimpli- 
city  and  raodefty,  and  turn  apoRates  from 
virtue.  Do  you  behold  a  proiligate  young 
man  ?  A(I^,  where  was  he  firll  corrupted  :' 
It  v/as  probably  in  tlie  midit  of  the  pleafures 
and  amufements  of  the  lioufe  of  fcafling. 
Where  did  his  paRions  hrfl  kindle  with  a 
new,  and  unknown  ardor,  and  his  heart 
form  the  loofe  purpofc?  Was  it  not  in 
the  houfe  of  feaiiing  where  temptation  in- 
vited, where  appetite  impelled,  and  wlierc 
the  licentious  flrain  of  converfation  encou- 
raged his  wiih  ?  Where  did  he  firih  hear 
thofe  principles  defended  that  favour  the 
diforders  of  the  palTions,  and  remove  from 
them  ail  tlie  reilraints  of  religion?  Where 
did  he  learn  at  length  to  fport  them  himfelf, 
while,  perhaps,  his  heart  yet  fmote  him  for 
his  impiety,  and  faifliood  ?  W^as  it  not  in 
the  houfe  of  feading  whence  diffipation  had 
baniihed  wifdom  and  prudence  ?  v/here  the 
fons  of  folly  were  ambitious  of  fnining  by 
an  impious  and  impertinent  wit,  and  fought 
admiration  from  one  another  by  the  mofl 
frivolous  qualities  ?  Where,  at  lall,  did 
principles  become  totally  perverted,  and 
no  longer  impofe  any  curb  upon  the  liccn- 


TJic  Dangers  of  Pleafure.  63 

tioufners  oF  manners  ?  Was  it  not  in  the 
midll:  oi  thole  Tcencs  of  grofs  pleafure  Avhere 
the  mind,  inveh)ped  in  the  mills  of  palhon, 
lees  falfliood  as  truth — where  realon,  bribed 
by  the  heart,  defends  the  innocence  of  eve- 
ry indulgence — and  where  the  example  of 
others  contributes  to  render  it  confident  in 
error  ?  Ah !  temptation  acquires  a  dan- 
gerous, and  often  a  fatal  power  in  the  houfe 
of  feafting — It  lurks  in  all  the  avenues  that 
lead  to  it.  Youth,  who  incautioufly  expofe 
themfelves  to  its  fnares,  or  yield  to  its  im- 
prelhons,  are  hailening  to  ruin. 

On  the  other  hand,  does  not  wifdom  re- 
quire that  we  flibuld  occafionally  enter  in- 
to the  houfe  of  mourning,  and  grow  fami- 
liar there  with  thofe  ferious  and  thouo;htful 
fcenes  that  prefent  to  us  inilruttivc  ielfons 
on  the  vanity  of  the  world  ?  There  every 
obiccl  contributes  to  abate  the  immoderate 
ardor  of  the  paHions,  and  to  dived  the  al- 
lurements to  vice  of  their  falfe  charms. 
There  we  behold  all  that  attrafted  ambi- 
tion, or  that  nourifhed  pride  levelled  to  the 
duft.  B laired  perhaps  are  the  objects  of 
unlawful  defirc — andthe  defires  themfelves 
feem,  for  the  moment  to  be  extinguilhed. 


64.  The  Dangers  ofPleafure, 

Silent  the  impious  tongue  that,  profaned 
religion,  and  that  jetted  with  eternity. 
Gone  to  her  account  that  fpirit  that,  in  life, 
may  have  forgotten  her  eternal  deftinaticn, 
and  fought  only  a  vain  and  momentary 
happinefs  among  the  deceitful  and  fugitive 
joys  of  fenfe.  O  my  foul !  is  this  the  end 
of  all  the  gilded  profpefts  of  vice  and  folly  ! 
If  temptation  is  ever  too  ilrong  for  thee, 
turn  to  the  houfe  of  mourning,  and  the 
views  that  are  there  prefented  will  correal 
it. 

III.  Scenes  of  pleafure  and  indulgence 
tend,  in  the  next  place,  to  impair  the  fen-- 
timents  of  piety. 

The  folem.nity  of  the  ideas,  and  the  puri- 
ty of  the  fentiments  which  form  the  fpirit 
of  true  devotion,  illy  accord  with  the  light 
fantailic  joys  of  the  houfe  of  feailing,  or 
with  the  difiipations  of  a  fenfual  heart. 
Not  only  do  thefe  fcenes  tend  to  impair  or 
to  fet  afidc  the  holy  offices  of  religion,  but 
frequently  we  fee  them  dillurb  the  whole 
order  and  econom.y  of  life  ?  The  regula- 
rity of  families  is  deranged — The  rational 
and  ufeful  diflribution  of  time  is  neglected — 


The  Dangers  of  Pleofiire.  65 

Every  moment  is  left  to  be  employed  as  ac- 
cident, or  caprice  may  prompt — Hardly 
any  portion  remains  for  the  purpofes  of  im- 
provement, or  for  fulfilling  the  grave  and 
important  duties  that  belong  to  us  as  reafon- 
able  men,  and  as  chriilians — See  thefe  giddy 
children  of  folly  hallening  continually  from 
pleafure  to  pleafure.  Hardly  are  they  re- 
covered from  the  fatigues  of  one  till  they 
are  again  engroffed  in  preparations  for  the 
next  fcene,  as  if  thefe  were  the  great  con- 
cerns of  life.  As  frivolous  and  idle  as  their 
employments  is  the  whole  ftrain  of  their 
converfation — Ah  !  in  the  midft  of  fo  many 
vanities,  where  are  the  thoughts  of  God  our 
Maker  ? 

A  continual  fucceffion  of  pleafures  is  apt 
to  etiace  from  the  mind  that  fentiment  of 
dependence  upon  the  Creator  fo  becoming 
our  (late.  The  proud,  ungrateful  heart  of 
man  receives  the  bleiTmgs  of  divine  provi- 
dence without  recognizing  their  author. 
He  gredily  devours  them,  and  then  forgets, 
or  fpurns  the  hand  that  bellows  them. 
Affliction  is  the  fchool  of  thankiuinefs  as 
well  as  of  wifdom.  The  mind,  humbled 
by  fuffering,  enjoys  the  fmalleft  mercy  with 

K 


66  The  Dangers  of  Pleafure, 

gratitude ;  while  the  richeft,  by  proud  un- 
thinking profperity,  is  firft  abufed,  and  then* 
forgotten.  It  misfortune  has  not  yet  touch- 
ed you,  go  and  contemplate  it  in  the  lot  of 
others.  There  comtemplate  the  frailty  of 
human  naiure,  and  the  imperfe6lion  ot  all 
human  enjoyments  feparated  from  religion. 
Realize  the  necelhty  of  making  God  your 
friend  v/hen  the  ^vorld  forfakes  you.  Men 
nurfed  in  pleafure  feel  not  the  fame  motives 
which  the  weary  and  aiilitied  feel  to  feek  a 
refupe  in  the  bofom  of  the  Father  of  mer- 
cies  from  the  ilorms  that  vex  the  world. 
In  the  houfe  of  mourning  we  naturally  lift 
our  hearts  to  God  as  the  friend  of  the 
wretched.  We  fee  how  bleffed  his  portion 
is  whofe  chief  good  remains  unimpaired 
amidil  the  wreck  of  ail  his  otlier  comforts — 
and  who  is  able  to  fay,  "  I  will  go  to  God 
niy  exceeding  joy.  In  the  time  of  trouble 
he  will  hide  me  in  his  pavilion.  When  my 
father  and  my  mother  forfake  me,  then  the 
Lord  will  take  me  up."'^  Such  pious  em.o- 
tions  are  not  the  natural  growth  of  the 
houfe  of  feafling.  The  heart,  fatisfied  with 
the  low  and  feveriQi  enjoyments  of  fenfe^ 

*  Pfalms  iliii.  4 — 27.  5,  10. 


Tlie  Dangers  of  Flcafure.  67 

afpires  not  to  feek  more  pure  and  fpiriiual 
fources  of  delight.  And  amidll  the  pride 
of  life,  and  in  the  very  theatre  of  vanity, 
we  (liail  look  in  vain  tor  thole  elevat(  d  and 
holy  aiTecUons  that  ally  the  foul  to  Heaven, 
or  for  tliofe  fentiments  of  humility  that 
conned  a  dependent  being  vvith  the  Creator. 

IV.  High  and  conilant  pleafures  are  un- 
friendly to  the  benevolent  affeftions.  They 
tend  to  contraft  and  harden  the  heart.  The 
importunities  of  want,  the  fighs  of  wretch- 
ednefs  are  unwelcome  intruders  on  the  joy- 
ous feilival.  How  often  do  the  happy 
thruft  from  their  doors  the  children  of  mi- 
fery,  or  leave  them,  like  Lazarus,  forgotten 
at  the  gate  ?  On  the  lowly  and  diilrefsful 
vale  of  life  fupercilious  profperity  is  inclin- 
ed to  look  down  with  indilierence  or  con- 
tempt. Having  gained  an  elevation  to 
which  the  clouds  never  afcend,  it  is  little 
moved  at  the  tempefts  that  beat  on  the  cot- 
tages below.  To  whom  fliall  the  miferable 
apply  for  that  fympathy  that  is  neceilary 
to  relieve  their  aillidions  ?  Who  are  they 
who  are  difpofed  to  feek  out  the  retreats  of 
forrow  and  dillrefs,  and  to  adminiRer  there 
thofe  confolations  which  the  alllicled  re- 


63  The  Dangers  of  Pleofiire. 

quire  ?  Are  they  thofe  who  have  been  nurf- 
ed  in  the  lap  of  indulgence  and  pleafure  ? 
Are  they  not  thofe  who  have  themfelves 
been  educated  in  the  fchool  of  misfortune, 
and  who  have  been  taught,  by  their  own 
feelings,  the  claims  of  fuifering  humanity  ? 
/re  they  not  thofe  who  often  turn  afide 
from  the  profperous  courfe  which  provi- 
dence permits  them  to  hold  through  life, 
to  vifit  the  receptacles  of  human  v/retched- 
nefs,  and  to  carry  comfort  into  the  habita- 
tions of  penury  and  difeafe  ?  Who  learn 
here  to  feel  what  is  due  to  human  nature  ? 

Pleafure  is  felFifh — attra6ling  every  thing 
into  its  own  center,  it  loofens  the  bonds  of 
fociety.  Hence  it  is  that  luxury  haftens 
the  ruin  of  nations  in  proportion  as  it  makes 
the  love  of  pleafure  the  reigning  charafter 
of  their  manners.  Man  is  rendered  focial 
by  his  wants  and  fufferings.  The  mixture 
of  evil  in  the  condition  ot  human  life,  con- 
tributes to  unite  the  world  by  the  moft  ten- 
der and  powerful  ties.  Mankind  are  link- 
ed together,  and  endeared  to  one  another 
by  the  mutual  need  and  exercife  of  kind- 
nefs.  Perhaps  a  condition  mixed  v/ith  af- 
fliction like  the  prefent,  and  fuch  a  difci- 


The  Dangers  of  Fleafure,  69 

pline  of  fympathy  as  we  experience  in  this 
world,  is  necelFary  to  cukivate  the  foul  to 
that  high  pitch  of  benevolence,  and  to  pre- 
pare it  for  thofe  exalted  unions  that  {hall 
take  place  in  the  celellial  (late.  Seldom 
will  callous  profperitv,  that  has  never 
known  a  change,  deign  to  (Led  a  tear  over 
the  calamities  of  the  unfortunate,  and  even 
when  prompted  by  vanity,or  urged  by  (hame, 
it  extends  a  hand  to  relieve  them,  it  is  bene- 
ficent without  charity.  If  we  would  culti^ 
vate  the  benevolent  affections,  and  bring  to 
perfeftion  thofe  humane  and  generous  fyra- 
pathies  which  fo  v/ell  become  our  nature, 
and  are  fo  necefiary  and  fo  ornamental  to 
our  flate,  we  mult  not  dwell  frequently  or 
long  in  the  houle  of  feafting. 

V.  Its  pleafures  tend,  in  the  next  place, 
to  enfeeble  the  principle  of  felf-govern- 
ment. 

Self-denial  is  neceffary  to  felf-command. 
If  our  defires  are  not  frequently  checked, 
and  always  kept  within  the  bounds  of  mod- 
eration, they  become,  like  children  fpoiled 
by  exceifive  indulgence,  impatient  of  con- 
troul,  and    prone  to  every    criminal   and 


yo  The  Dangers  ofFleaJurt. 

dangerous  licence.  Thofe  who  wifely  edu- 
cate youth,  accuftom  them  early  to  re- 
ftraint,  and  to  fubmit  implicitly  to  the  rea- 
fon  and  the  will  of  thofe  whom  ag^e  and  ex- 
perience  entitle  to  govern,  that,  w^hen  their 
own  reafon  comes  to  take  the  command, 
they  may  be  able  to  obey  the  reftraints 
which  prudence  and  wifdom  will  find  it  ne- 
celfary  to  impofe  upon  their  pallions  and 
their  conducl.  Such  is  the  purpofe  alfo  of 
that  corredive  difcipline,  by  which  it  plea- 
fes  divine  providence  to  prepare  imperfecl 
iTien,  who  are  here  but  in  the  childhood  of 
their  exiilence,  for  the  ftate  of  perfe6l  rea- 
fon, and  of  perfeft  virtue  in  the  heavens. 
In  the  midil  of  moderate  enjoyments,  and 
correfted  appetites,  the  feiitiments  of  duty 
have  opportunity  firmly  to  root  themfelves, 
and  to  acquire  afcendency  am^ong  the  other 
principles  of  the  heart.  Unredrained  in- 
dulgence corrupts  them.  And  the  palfions, 
growing  inPiamed  and  ungovernable,  hurry 
away  their  v/eak  captives  over  all  the  fences 
of  prudence  as  v/ell  as  of  piety. 

Moderation  and  felf-denial  are  not  Icfs 
neceiiary  to  the  true  enjoyment  of  plealure 
than  to  the  proper  government  oi  ourfelves. 


The  Dangers  of  Pleafure,  71 

When  pleafure  is  the  fole  obje6l  of  purfuit, 
its  enjoyments  Toon  grow  inlipid  by  excels. 
The  appetites  precipitate  themfelves  upon 
indulgence,  and  weary  themfelves  with  de- 
light. Kence  their  gratiBcation  is  often 
dallied  with  diiguft,  and  often  followed  by 
remorfe.  Abitinence  is  neceiTary  to  re- 
flore  the  tone  of  nature,  and  to  create  the 
higheft  relifh  even  Df  the  pleafures  of  fenfe. 
When  ufeful  employment  makes  up  the 
main  bufinefs  of  life,  thofe  moderate  and 
lawful  enjoyments  that  are  interpofed  to 
unbend  the  fpring  of  the  mind,  are  taHed 
with  the  purefl  and  moil  exquifite  fatisfac- 
tion.  And  if  occafionally  we  retire  to  the 
houfe  of  mourning,  its  aiiecting  fcenes  are 
calculated  to  nourifh  that  tendernefs  and 
fenhbility  of  heart  which  is  the  happieft 
foil  in  which  to  plant  all  the  moral,  fenti- 
mental,  and  fecial  pleafures. 

An  important  quality  in  the  government 
of  ourfelves,  is  the  power  of  hrmnefs  and 
conftancy  of  mind  in  enduring  the  neceffa- 
ry  evils  of  life.  Youth,  who  have  always 
been  flattered  and  foftened  by  pleafure, 
w^ho  have  had  every  defire  gratified  as  foon 
as  it  arofe,  v/ho  have  hardly  known  what 


72  The  Dangers  of  Plecifure, 

difappointment  is,  are  little  prepared  to 
encounter  thofe  adverfe  events  of  Provi- 
dence, which  fooner  or  later  niuft  prefent 
themfelves  to  every  traveller  through  this 
mournful  and  uncertain  pilgrimage. — 
Hov/ever  ferene  and  pleafant  the  morning 
of  life  may  commence,  clouds  will  often 
overcaft  the  day,  or  will  moil  certainly  co- 
ver the  evenmg  with  darknefs  and  gloom. 
If  your  path  now  winds  along  a  fmiling 
plain  in  the  midft  of  flowers,  it  will  foon 
lead  you  into  a  barren  defert  filled  with 
briars  and  thorns,  or  prefent  to  you  fright- 
ful precipices  from  which  you  will  hardly 
efcape.  Difappointments  you  muft  meet, 
mortifications  you  muft  endure,  diftrefsfui 
reverfes  you  ought  to  expeft.  What  af- 
(liftion  are  they  preparing  for  themfelves 
v/ho  now  will  dwell  only  in  the  houfe  of 
feailing?  Conftant  pleafure  induces  a  w^eak- 
nefs  of  mind  that  augments  the  preffure  of 
the  multiplied  and  unavoidable  calamities 
that  belong  to  our  ftate.  In  that  cafe,  un- 
looked  for  reverfes  will  overwhelm  you 
with  a  dreadful  weight — if  you  would  a6i: 
your  part  with  dignity  in  the  world,  and 
not  weakly  fink  under  its  misfortunes,  ac- 
cuftom    yourfelf  to   look   forward   to   its 


The  Dangers  of  Pleaf lire.  73 

changes,  and  ferioufly  to  confider  the  mix- 
ed condition  of  human  Hie.  Early  learn 
to  forego  your  own  inclinations,  when  duty 
requires  it ;  and  to  prefcrve  them  at  all 
times,  under  the  perfect  controul  of  reafon. 
Often  enter  into  the  houfe  of  mourning, 
and  there  meditate  on  the  dark  fcenes  of 
human  nature.  Vifit  the  receptacles  of 
poverty  and  want — attend  the  couches  of 
difeafe  and  pain — liftcn  to  the  fighs  of  the 
friendlefs  and  the  wretched — look  on  the 
melancholy  trophies  of  death — let  the  cries 
j(|:  of  mourners  who  lament  the  lofs  of  all  that 
was  dear  to  them  on  earth  touch  your  fym- 
pathy — reflect  on  the  tears  that  are  (hed  in 
fecret,  and  on  the  thoufand  namelefs  eriefs 
that  wring  the  hearts  of  the  unhappy.  By 
fcenes  like  thefe  chaffen  yourfelves,  and,  by 
becoming  familiar  with  attiiction,  prepare 
your  mind  with  fortitude  to  meet  thofe 
changes  which  may  be  referved  for  you  in 
the  courfe  of  divin^"  providence.  If  it  Ihould 
pleaie  God  to  cultivate  your  patience  and 
conftancy  in  the  fchool  of  fuffering,  regard  it 
as  a  proof  of  his  paternal  care.  Every  fuch 
trial  will  be  difarmino;  for  you  the  fore?  of 
thofe  gr^at  calamities  that  fink  feeble  minds 
to  the  duff,  and  preparing  you,  with  calm- 


74  The  Dangers  of  Pleafure, 

nefs  and  refignation,  to  approach  the  clofe 
of  Hfe,  a  period  fo  formidable  to  the  foft 
and  guilty  fons  of  pleafure. — The  grace  of 
God,  fancliifying  the  heart,  and  cultivating 
within  it  the  hope  of  a  blelTed  immortality, 
is  the  only  eiieBual  preparative  for  a 
peaceful  and  happy  death.  But  the  holy 
fpiritufes  as  valuable  and  neceffary  auxilia- 
ries of  his  influences,  the  affefting  medita- 
tions, and  the  felf-denying  duties  which  I 
have  here  recommended.  Certain  it  is  that 
thofe  who  form  to  themfelves  the  moll  flat- 
tering profpecls  in  the  houfe  of  feaft^ing, 
and  cherifh  only  thofe  gay  hopes  that  are 
apt  to  brighten  upon  them  there,  muft,  in 
the  progrefs  of  life,  meet  with  many  cruel 
and  overwhelming  difappointments  which 
they  will,  by  no  means,  be  prepared  to 
endure. 

Without  a  firm  and  fl:eady  felf-command, 
and  many  felf-denials,  no  great  attainments 
can  be  made  in  the  befl:  and  mofh  valuable 
qualities  of  human  nature.  When  pleafure 
is  left  to  form  the  charafter  it  foon  deftroys 
whatever  is  amiable  or  refpeftable  in  youth. 
See  a  young  man  who  has  purfued  only 
fafliionable  am.ufements !     What  frivolity. 


The  Dangers  of  Fleafure,  75 

what  ignorance,  ^vhat  conceit,  what  inanity 
mark  his  charafter,  and  render  him  con- 
temptible in  the  efteem  of  the  wife  and 
good  !  What  an  unfurniflied  mind  !  what 
ufclefs  talents  !  what  an  infipid  and  unflea- 
dy  heart !  But  if  he  has  plunged  deep  in 
the  ftream  of  picafure.  frivolity  and  unftea- 
dinefs  foon  become  its  lighteft  faults. 
Loaded  with  treachery,  deceit,  and  every 
bafenefs,  it  haitens  to  fink  into  the  dregs  of 
vice.  If  the  bloom  and  vivacity  of  youth 
fiiould  caft  a  veil  over  thefe  defetls  for  a 
^*time,  what  infignificance,  what  contempt 
are  they  preparing  for  age  ! — what  melan- 
choly and  gloom  for  declining  health,  and 
impotent  years  ! — what  bitter,  and,  at  the 
fame  time,  what  vain  repentance  for  a  dying 
bed! 

VI.  Pleafure  is  unfavourable,  in  the  laft 
place,  to  thofe  ferious  refle61ions  on  our 
mortality,  and  on  the  inftability  of  all  hu- 
man things  which  are  fo  ufeful  to  prepare 
the  foul  for  her  immortal  deliination. 

The  imasfe  of  death  would  fro^\m  on  the 

o 

gaieties  of  the  houfe  of  fealling,  and  dafli 
them    with    unfeafonable    melancholy. — 


76  The  Dangers  ofPleafure, 

Strangely  importunate,  and  unmindful  of 
propriety  would  he  be  thought  to  be  who 
ihould  infmuate  a  thought  of  dying  v/here 
all  were  devoted  to  feftivity  and  mirth.  Ah ! 
that  folemn  and  eventful  moment  is  haften- 
ing  on.  The  riot  of  the  fpirits  may  hide  it 
from  your  view,  but  cannot  retard  it.  And, 
with  a  fearful  furprize  it  will  overtake  thofe 
who  have  not  expefted  its  approach. 

Little  more  welcome  will  the  thoughts 
even  of  the  felicities  of  Heaven  find  among 
fuch  fcenes  of  levity  and  folly.  W'ith  thefe,*^' 
their  pure  and  holy  nature  cannot  be  aflo- 
ci.ated.  And  the  heart  that  adores  the  one 
will  be  cold  and  indifferent  to  the  other. 
We  are  connected  with  this  world  by  the 
imprefTions  of  fenfe,  and  with  the  world  to 
come  only  by  the  power  of  refleftion. 
Hence,  in  the  houfe  of  feafting,  v/here  the 
fenfes  are  all  heated  and  inflamed,  and  re- 
flexion almoft  excluded,  the  prefent  obtains 
an  infinite  advantage  over  the  future.  Eter- 
nity is  forgotten,  and  the  grave  at  lafL  opens 
upon  us  by  furprize.  As  death  is  the  inevi- 
table lot  of  human  nature,  and  all  things 
here  are  haftening  to  a  period,  how  wile 
would  it  be  often  to  retn^e  from  the  circle 


The  Dangers  oJFhaJiire.  77 

of  amurement,  and  to  grow  familiar  with 
thefc  ferious  tratlis  in  the  houfe  of  mourn- 
ing. There  we  may  learn  to  meet  our  own 
change  in  peace,  and  be  prepared  to  pafs 
with  hope  to  the  great  tribunal.  There  we 
may  cultivate  th.at  lively  faith  in  the  merci- 
ful Redeemer  of  the  world,  that  will  fhed 
light  and  joy  on  the  valley  of  the  (hadow  of 
death,  and  wholly  remove  thofe  ignoble 
and  impious  fears  of  dying  that  difcom^pofe 
the  latter  end  of  fmners.  There  we  may 
contemplate  the  vain,  the  tranfitory,  and 
'"  uncertain  nature  of  earthly  things  that  are 
unworthy  to  attach  our  hearts.  It  is  only 
when  w^e  recollect  that  vre  are  united  to  thus 
world  by  a  m.omentary  tie,  and  to  the  world 
to  come  by  eternal  relations,  that  we  fiiall 
defpife,  as  reafonabie  beings  ought  to  do, 
the  fantaftic  occupations  of  the  difiipated 
and  the  idle,  and  cultivate  the  folid  and 
immortal  hopes  of  piety.  Thefe  are  leffons 
not  taught  in  the  houfe  of  feafling.  There 
man  feems  to  poffefs  a  power  of  happinefs 
independent  and  fecure — the  vicifuudes, 
and  the  period  of  life,  are  hidden  behind 
the  mills  in  Vv^hich  fenfual  pleafures  involve 
the  reafon.  He  is  lured  on  ilep  by  flep,  in 
a  fatal  oblivion  of  eternity  till  tljc  dreadful 


78  The  Dangers  of  Pleafure, 

moment  when  he  is  called  all  unprepared 
to  plunge  into  it. 

The  whole  objetl  of  the  prefent  difcourfe 
is  to  teach  us  caution  and  moderation  in 
indulging  the  plealures  of  fenfe.  Univer- 
fally  criminal  they  are  not — On  this  fubjeft 
the  Creator  has  indicated  his  will  by  the 
powers  of  enjoyment  with  which  w^e  are 
endued,  and  the  obje8s,  evidently  defigned 
to  gratify  them,  with  which  we  are  fur- 
rounded.  But,  liable  to  great  abufe  through 
the  infirmity  and  corruption  of  human  na- 
ture, they  require  to  be  retrained  by  a  firm 
and  condant  rein.  There  is  a  moderate 
bound  within  which  they  are  lawful. 
Chearfulnefs  is  a  virtue — though  levity  is 
a  vice — Amufement,  enjoyed  as  a  relaxa- 
tion from  the  grave  and  important  duties 
of  life,  is  to  be  allowed — dilfipation,  as  an 
enemy  to  all  good  principle,  is  to  be  con- 
demned. Temperate  pleafares  may  be  ren- 
dered favourable  not  only  to  the  enjoy- 
ments, but  the  duties  of  life — inordinate  in- 
dulgence leads  to  the  proftration  of  every 
generous  and  noble  affeciion  of  the  heart. 
The  blefiings  of  providence,  tafted  with 
moderation  and  rece;ived  v/ith  thankfulnefs. 


The  Dangers  ofPlcafure.  jg 

Terve  to  ilrengthen  the  principle  of  piety— 
abufed  to  intemperance,  they  corrupt,  and 
at  length,  dellroy  both  body  and  foul. 

Life  is  a  ferious  thing.  It  is  the  com- 
mencement of  an  endlels  being.  It  is  the 
only  period  of  our  probation  for  immorta- 
lity. Every  a6lion  here  is  impreffing  fome 
charafter  upon  our  deftiny.  And  the  whole 
feries  of  our  condu6l  in  time  is  to  form  the 
fubjeft  of  one  vafl  reckoning  at  the  bar  of 
God.  Although  the  chearfulnefs  of  con- 
fcious  innocence,  and  the  ferenity  of  pious 
hope  become  a  good  man,  levity  is  unfuita- 
ble  to  his  {late.  And  frequent  entrance 
into  the  light  and  thoughtlefs  fcenes  of  the 
houfe  of  feafting,  even  in  youth,  is  unwor- 
thy a  rational  and  immortal  being  who  is 
encompaifed  with  fuch  ferious  profpetls, 
and  has  duties  of  fuch  high  importance  to 
fulfil.  With  referve,  therefore,  indulge 
pleafure.  Never  facrifice  to  it  one  duty 
either  to  God,  or  to  man.  Preferve,  in 
your  lawful  amufements,  a  collefted 
mind,  habitually  attentive  to  the  great  def- 
tinations  of  life.  Challen  your  joy,  know- 
ing that,  for  every  idle  W' ord,  and  for  every 
idle  thought,  you  mult  render  an  account. 


8o  The  Dangers  ofPleafure. 

Remember  the  prefence  of  God,  and  join 
trembling  wkh  your  mirth. — Look  forvvard 
to  that  period,  not   far  remote,  when  the 

Jun,  the  moon,  or  the  Jlars  JJiaU  no  longer 

Jliine  on  your  tabernacle — when  the  Jilver 
cord  of  life  Jliall  he  loo  fed,  and  the  golden 
bowl  Jliall  be  broken,  when  the  frail  pitcher 

JJiall  be  broken  at  the  fountain,  and  the  wheel 
broken  at  the  cijlern — then  Jliall  the  dujl  return 

,  to  the  earth  as  it  was,  and  the  fjnrit  Jliall 
return  to  God  who  gave  it.^     Meditations 


*  Eccles.  xii.  This  is  a  fine  collection  of  images  in  the 
eaftern  ftile  to  exprefs  the  period  of  life.  Tie  thread  of  life 
is  a  familiar  image  in  the  poetry  of  all  nations,  which  is 
here  reprefented  as  ay?/f6'r  rcn-Zfor  its  precioufnefs  and  deli- 
cacy. The  only  part  of  the  imagery  which  will  bs  obfcure 
to  an  American  or  European  reader  is  the  following— w^iyw 
the  pitcher  JJjall  he  broken  at  the  fount ai)!,  and  the  nuheel  JJjall  be 
broken  at  the  ciftcrn.  In  the  Ibuth  of  Afia  and  in  Egypt, 
where  there  were  few  ftreams,  water,  fo  ncceifary  for  the 
Tifes  and  fuftenance  of  life,  was  fought  for  in  wells,  or  cclle(5ted 
hi  clfterns.  From  hence  it  was  drawn  with  pitchers  or  other 
fmiilar  veifels,  by  young  maidens,  or  the  daughters  of  the 
family,  for  domeftic  ufes  ;  or,  it  was  raifed  by  a  wheel,  and 
diftributed  into  the  troughs  and  refervoirs  at  which  the 
herds  came  to  drink. — ^When  the  pitcher,  that  had  fo  often 
gone  and  returned  fafe,  was  at  laft  broken  at  the  fountain — 
when  the  wheel,  that  raifed  the  flood  from  the  cifiem,  and 
threw  it  along  the  Channels  prepared  for  the  cattle,  was  de- 
ftroyed,  the  waters  were  no  longer  collecfted.  Thtfe  refrefh- 
ing  ftreams,  fo  neceffary  to  the  comfort  and  fuftenance  of  na- 
ture, ceafed  to  flow.  Thefe  circumftances  arc  enij^loycd  as 
figures,  fimple  but  beautiful,  to  exf  refs  the  rupture  of  that 
frail  velTel  that  contaiaas  the  fountain  of  life ;  or  ths  celfmion 


The  Dangers  of  Pleafiire.  8 1 

on  death  do  not  dillurb  the  innocent,  they 
alarm  only  the  guilty  confcience — They  do 
not  cover  life  with  gloom,  and  deliroy  its 
pleafures,  as  the  licentious  imagine — They 
only  render  pleafure  temperate  and  wile. 
Frequently  enter  into  the  houfe  of  mourn- 
ing— and,  always,  when  it  comes  in  compe- 
tition with  the  houfe  of  feailing,  give  the 
preference  to  this  fchool  of  humanity  and 
ferioulnefs— ^or  it  is  the  end  of  all  men,  and 

the  living  will  lay  it  to  his  heart. Thefe 

feafons  of  tender  and  virtuous  grief  may 
nourilh  pious  reilefctions,  and  bring  to  ma- 
turity the  hopes  and  difpofitions  oi  heaven, 
that  would  have  decayed  and  perilhed  r- 
midft  the  ardent  and  barren  pleafures  of 
fenfe.  Happy  they  who,  by  the  Jad}iefs  oj- 
thz  countenance  have  the  heoj't  made  better — 
who  are  taught,  by  the  affliftions  that  aie 
in  the  world  to  look  far  above  its  tranfitory 


of  the  a*flion  of  the  heart  that  throws  its  precious  ftreams 
along  the  channels  of  the  vehis.  Thofe  who  confult  the 
commentators  on  this  paflUge,  will  find,  in  the  greater  part 
of  them,  many  inlipiU  and  ridiculous  criticiiVns,  as  if  the 
facred  writer,  inltead  of  employing  a  beautiful  poetical 
image,  intended  to  give  us  a  pedantic  and  enigmatical  fyi- 
tem  of  anatomy. 

M 


'82  The  Dangers  ofPleafure, 

and  unfatisfying  joys,  to  the  eternal  habi- 
tations of  the  JLili  and  the  throne  of  the 
living  God,  in  whofe  prejence  is  fullnefs  of 

joy,  and  at  xohofe  right  hand  are  pleofures 

Jor  ever  more. 

AMEN  ! 


[    83    J 
DISCOURSE     IV. 

THE      RICH-     MAN-     AND     LAZARUS.. 


mam^^Bt 


Luke  xvi.  29 — 26. 


i^  nr^HERE  was  a  certain  rich  man  who 
X  was  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,, 
and  fared  fumptuoully  every  day — and 
there  was  a  certain  beggar  named  Lazarus 
who  was  laid  at  his  gate  full  of  fores  and 
defiring  to  be  fed  with  the  crumbs  which 
fell  from  the  rich  man's  table — moreover, 
the  dogs  come  and  licked  his  fores.  And  it 
came  to  pafs  that  the  beggar  died,  and  Vv'as 
carried  by  angels  into  Abraham's  bofom. 
The  rich  man  alfo  died  and  was  buried. 
And  in  hell  he  lift  up  his  eyes,  being  in 
torments,  and  feeth  Abraham  afar  ofP,  and 
Lazarus  in  his  bofom.  i  nd  he  cried  and 
faid,  father  Abraham !  have  mercy  on  me, 
and  fend  Lazarus  that  he  may  dip  the  tip 


84         The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

of  his  finger  in  water  and  cool  my  tongue, 
for  I  am  tormented  in  this  flame.  But 
Abraham  faid,  Son  !  remember  that  thou, 
in  thy  hfe  time,  receivedll  thy  good  things, 
and  likewife,  Lazarus  evil  thim^s — but  now 
he  is  comforted,  and  thou  art  tormented. 
And  befides  all  this,  between  us  and  you 
there  is  a  great  gulph  fixed,  fo  that  they 
who  would  pafs  from  hence  to  you  cannot, 
neither  can  they  pafs  to  us  who  would  come 
from  thence." 

This  parable  contains  the  moral  hiRory 
of  a  foft  and  effeminate  voluptuary.  His 
attire,  his  table,  and  his  equipage  difplayed 
the  magnificence,  and  luxury  of  a  prince. 
He  zoas  clothed  in  purple,  andjine  linnen,  and 
Jared  JiimptuQuJly  every  day/'^  But,  in  the 
m.idil  of  that  fplendor,  and  felf- enjoyment 
he  feems  to  have  forgotten  the  great  end  of 
living.  Rendered  unmindful  ot  his  Creator 
and  of  the  fuiferings  of  his  fellow  creatures, 
by  an  abufe  of  mercies  derived  only  from 

*  Purple  was  the  colour  appropriated,  in  that  age,  to 
princely  rank.  And,  as  the  manufadure  of  linnen  was 
then  only  in  Its  infancy,  it  was  not  introduced  as  an  article 
of  ordinary  drefs.  The  v/earing  oi fine  llnnsn  therefore  was 
confidered  as  a  proofcf  the  greateR  wealth,  or  the  greateft 
luxury. 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.         85 

the  goodncis  of  God,  and  which  ought  to 
have  been  employed  to  the  purpofes  of  pi- 
ety and  charity ;  he  appears  to  have  been 
intoxicated  with  his  good  fortune,  and  to 
have  ceafed  to  refleft  on  the  uncertainty  of 
human  things,  and  the  great  interefls  of  his 
immortal  exiilrnce.  Ihus  occupied  and 
diffipaied,  in  the  moment  when  he  leail 
expetted,  and  was  leaft  prepared  for  the 
dreadful  reverfe  that  followed,  he  was  fur- 
prized  by  death,  and  in  heU  he  UJt  up  his 
eyes,  being  in  torment.  The  profperity  of  his 
firft  fortune,  and  the  mifery  of  his  prefent 
condition  are  the  more  flrongly  marked  by 
being  oppofed  to  the  wretchednefs,  and  the 
triumphs  of  Lazarus.  It  is  of  little  impor- 
tance to  inquire  whether  this  is  the  hiilory 
of  men  who  adually  lived  at  Jerufalem  ;  or, 
whether  our  Lord  hath  borrowed  only  ge^ 
neral  and  probable  charafters,  and  worked 
them  into  a  parable  for  our  inllruciion. 
The  moral  is  the  fame — That  we  are  not 
to  judge  of  the  happinefs  and  mifery  of 
men  by  any  external  circumftances  in  wliich 
they  may  be  placed  in  the  prefent  life — 
That  piety,  though  it  may  feem  to  be  over- 
whelmed by  poverty,  by  contempt,  and 
fuffering  here,  is  found,  at  lad,  to  be  m[i- 


85         The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

nitely    the    happieft    choice — That    vice^ 
though  furrounded  with  fplendor  and  aillu- 
ence,  and  with  all  the  pleaiures  that  axliu- 
ence  can  purchafe,  will  appear,  eventuaily, 
to  be  a  wretched  portion — And  that  Oi,e 
thing,  above  all  others,  is  necdjut.     But,  as 
the  character  of  this  fon  ot"  pieafure  is  not 
marked   in  the  parable  by   any    high,  and 
atrocious  ads  of  vice,  except  the  want  of 
charity  to  Lazarus,  and  fyrnpathy,  with  his 
affliction,   it    may   be  intended    larther   to 
teach   us  that  a  voluptuous   luxury,   a  foft 
and  excedive  felf- indulgence,  an  ambitious 
oftentation  in  the  ornaments  of  the  pei  I'un, 
the  fumptuoufnefs   of  buildings  and  furni- 
ture, and  the  richnefs  and  iplendor  of  equi- 
page, when    they   employ   our    principal 
cares,  are  themfelves  criminal ;  and,  by  the 
neglect  which  they  induce  of  the  highell  in- 
tereils  of  the  foul,  are  preparing  it,  in  the 
end,   for  that  fearful   deiliny    \o   ilrongly 
painted  by  our  Lord  in  this  interefling  pa- 
rable. 

To  reprefent  this  defiiny,    in   order,  if 
poihble,  to    deter  the   children  of  guilty 
pleafure  from  purfuing  their  fatal  career, 
ihall  be  the  principal  object  of  the  prefent 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,         Sj 

difcourfe,  as  it  was,  probably,  the  main  de- 
fign  of  our  Lord  himlelf. — I  Ihall  previoufly, 
however,  take  a  (hort  review  of  the  other, 
and  fubordmate  inftru6lions  that  rife  out  of 
the  hiliory,  and  that,  without  doubt,  were, 
likewife,  in  the  view  of  this  great  teacher. 

The  firft  lefTon  which  we  are  taught  by  it 
is,  that  we  are  not  to  judge  of  the  happi- 
nefs  or  mifery  of  men  by  any  external  cir- 
cumltances  in  which  they  may  be  placed  in 
the  prefent  life. 

The  gaiety  and  fplendor  that  furround  af- 
fluence, and  are  oitentatioufly  difplayed  by 
luxury,  often  deceive  the  world  into  a  falfe 
opinion  of  the  happinefs  of  the  men  who 
enjoy  them.  The  votaries  of  pleafure,  as 
long  as  they  can  avoid  looking  into  their 
own  hearts,  and  into  futurity,  are  themfelves 
deceived  on  their  own  fubje6l.  But,  not  to 
mention  that  true  happinefs  depends  chiefly 
on  the  inward  Itate  of  the  mind,  and  the  re- 
gulation of  its  affettions  by  the  ftandard  of 
reafon,  and  the  fpirit  of  religion,  fo  contra- 
ry to  all  their  habits,  let  us  view  their  en- 
joyments in  the  light  only  in  v/hich  they  are 
reprefented  to  us  in  this  alfeciing  fiory.     If 


88         The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

they  mud.  fhortly  end  in  eternal  and  unut- 
terable miiery,  what  value  Ihould  we  put 
upon  them  ?  Under  the  face  of  gaiety,  and 
the  high  enjoyment  of  life,  are  concealed 
the  principles  of  eternal  death.  Under  an 
exterior  maik  of  felicity  on  which  are  paint- 
ed fatyrs,  and  fyrens,  and  the  images  of  joy- 
ous feitivals,  are  covered  the  fcorpions  of  a 
guilty  confcience,  and  the  avenging  furies 
of  divine  juilice. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  pains  or  the  wants 
which  a  good  man  may  be  obliged  to  en- 
dure in  the  prefent  life,  which  is  but  a  mo- 
ment, can  take  little  from  the  infinite  fum 
of  an  eternal  felicity  on  which  he  is  the  next 
moment  about  to  enter.  Lazarus  may  be 
poor — he  may  lie  at  the  gate  of  a  princely 
palace  whofe  lord  riots  in  the  abundance  of 
his  wealth — the  dogs  may  clean  the  fores 
of  a  wretch  who,  fick  with  hunger  and  fa- 
tigue, is  obliged  to  accept  of  that  fmall 
office  of  kindnefs  from  beails,  which  he  will 
look  for  in  vain  from  the  unfeeling  pride 
and  luxury  of  his  own  fpecies — Lazarus 
may  perilh  for  want — but  his  pains  are  only 
for  an  inllant.  Death  which  feems  to  be 
the  greatell  of  them,  puts  an  end  to  them  all. 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.         89 

AnsT'^ls  convey  him  to  everlaftinsj  habita- 
tion>.  And  the  bofom  of  the  father  of  the 
fauhful  receives  hiin  from  the  contempt  and 
injuries  of  t]  e  world.  And,  in  the  efiimate 
of  our  happinefs,  what  proportion  is  tliere 
between  a  niomerxtary  joy  fucceeded  by 
eternal  fufferings,  and  a  momentary  fuller- 
ing fucceeded  by  eternal  joys  ? 

When  we  confider  the  different  dedinies 
of  thefe  two  men,  liow  ilrongly,  in  the  next 
place,  do  they  inculcate  this  truth,  that  ons 
thing  is  veedjid!  Is  happinefs  the  aim  of  all 
the  purfuits  of  men  ?  it  is  to  be  found  on- 
ly in  true  religion.  Wealth,  power,  and 
fenfual  pleafure,  the  phantoms  that  contin- 
ually occupy  and  deceive  the  world,  can 
add  little  to  the  felicity  of  men  when  mea- 
fured  on  the  great  fcale  of  immortality. — 
And  if  they  are  acquired  by  crimes,  or  are 
enjoyed  without  God,  their  poileffion  is 
vanity,  their  end  is  milery.  Look  on  the 
dreadful  fate  of  this  rich  voluptuary  and 
fay,  WhatJhaU  it  profit  a  viauy  though  he  gain 
the  whole  world,  ij  he  loje  his  own  J  out?  Or 
whit  Jliall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his 
foul?  When  plunged  in  that  devouring 
*gulph,  will  it  be  any  confolation  to  hiin 

N 


90         The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus, 

that  he  has  once  revelled  in  the  fulnefs  of 
ienfual  joy  ?  Will  he  not  envy  the  iiate  of 
Lazarus,  poor,  delpifed  and  wretched,  but 
the  heir  of  heaven  ?  Will  he  not  elleem  it 
infinitely  a  better  portion  to  fuiFer  afliittion 
with  the  people  oi  God,  than  to  enjoy  the 
pieafures  of  im  for  a  feafon  ? 

But,  probably,  this  parable  vf as  intended, 
farther,  to  reprefent  the  guilt,  and  to  point 
out  the  condemnation  oi  a  foft  and  pleafur- 
able  life  devoted  fupremely  to  the  gra  ifi- 
cations  of  appetite,  and  of  vanity.  The 
charafter  of  this  rich  man  is  not  marked  by 
any  crimes  of  notorious  profligacy.  He 
inhabited  a  palace,  he  was  attired  with 
fplendor,  he  enjoyed  a  fumptuous  and  lux- 
urious table.  His  fault  feems  to  have  con- 
fiiled  chiefly  in  an  oflientatious  luxury, 
in  an  eHiminate  felF-indulgence.  And 
there  are  innumerable  duties  to  the  poor, 
to  the  church,  to  our  country,  to  mankind, 
as  well  as  to  God,  with  which  fuch  a  life  is 
inconfiflient. 

By  pampering  the  appetites,  and  inflam- 
ing the  paifions,  it  is  unfriendly  to  that  felf- 
goveniment,  and  felf- denial  which  are  ef-# 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.         91 

fential  to  a  life  of  piety  and  virtue.  And 
not  lefs  is  it  unfavourable  to  the  virtues  of 
benevolence  and  charity.  High  and  con- 
tinual pleaCures  beget  a  ielfiQinefs  of  mind 
that,  at  lail,  ceafes  to  feel  for  the  miferablc 
— 1  hey  nourilh  a  pride  that  is  prone  to 
look  down  wiih  contempt,  or  \\iih  negle6l 
on  the  humble  and  unfortunate — They  cre- 
ate a  faheandfaflidious  delicacy  that  is  apt 
to  be  oiiended  at  the  view  of  poverty  and 
wretchednefs. — Lazarus,  theretore,  lies  ne- 
glected at  the  gate.  If  he  is  not  infulted, 
he  is  forgotten.  It  would  break  in  too 
much  upon  the  enjoyments  of  this  fon  of 
pleafure  to  concern  hi  iil'elf  about  the  peace 
of  a  wretch.  If  he  liilens  to  a  reprelenta- 
tion  in  his  behalf,  the  care  of  lurni'iiing 
relief  is  devolved  on  pampered  flaves,  who, 
partaking  of  their  mailer's  fullnefs,  have  no 
lympathy  with  didrelTed  and  friendlefs  vir- 
tue. He  is  too  indolent  to  roufe  himfelf 
from  the  lap  of  cafe  and  indulgence  to  the 
adive  cares  of  a  generous  and  noble  cha- 
rity.— A  high  crime  this  in  the  eye  of  God 
who  has  an  equal  care  of  all  his  children, 
and  who,  in  the  cour(e  of  a  wife  and  gra- 
cious providence  permits  the  varieties  of 
♦pleafure  and  of  pain  that  exiit  among  men 


92         The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

only  in  order  to  cultivate  in  their  hearts  the 
noblell  virtues,  and  to  unite  them  together 
by  the  fvv'eetelL  ties. 

Equally  inimical  is  a  continual  racceffion 
of  ienfual  delights  to  the  lublitiie  virtues  of 
public  fpirit.  They  contract  as  weli  as  en- 
feeble the  mind.  And  render  it  incapable 
of  expanding  itfelf  to  the  great  and  enlarg- 
ed iniereils  ot  religion,  of  our  country,  or  of 
mankind.  Ihey  to]. center  it  ni  low  and 
ignoble  enjoyments.  Innumerable  little 
and  fehiih  cares  perpetually  engage,  and,  at 
length,  almoft  excluiively  occupy  it.  Ihe 
foftnel's  and  felriihnels  of  pleafure  difqualify 
a  man  for  thole  high  and  arduous  iervices 
in  promoting  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  fal- 
vation  of  men,  to  which  a  chriitian  may  of- 
ten be  called  ;  and  render  him  equally  un- 
able, or  unwilling,  to  make  thofe  generous 
and  noble  facrmces  which  the  virtues  of 
humanity,  of  patriotifm,  or  of  piety  may 
require.  Do  v/e  ever  expe6l  to  hear  from 
the  lovers  of  pleafure  this  holy  and  dihn- 
terelled  profeihon  which  fo  well  becomes  a 
a  difciple  of  the  crucihed  Redeemer — ■ 
douhUejs  I  count  all  thivgs  but  lojs  J  or  the  ex- 
cellency  of'  the  knovjlecloe  oj  Uirjt  Jejus  my*' 


The  Rich  Ma:i  and  Lazirus,         93 

Lord  for  zchom  I  have  fiffcred  ihe  lofs  oj'  all 
things?     Neither  couni  1  my  tije  dear  unto 
my j elf,  fo  that  I  vnght  fimjh  my  comfe  xmih 
joy,  and  ihe  minijl.y  tchuhl  have  received  of 
the  Lord  Jejiis,  to  t'Jiijy  the  go] pel  oJ  the  grace 
of  God?     And  if  we  conficler  thole  virtues 
only  which  are  eilential  to  the  exiilence  or 
profperity  of  fociety,  can  you,  in  trying  h- 
tuations,  truft  the '  integrity,   or  conhde  in 
the  patriotihn  of  men  who,  by  vohjptuouf- 
nefs,  have  corrupted  and  enfeebled  their 
minds,  or,  by  luxury,   have  probably  im- 
paired their    principles    along   with  their 
fortune?      And    when    thefe    vices  have 
infefted  the  mafs  of  a  nation  all  improve- 
ment  ceafes — public    enterprize  is   extm- 
o-uiihed — national  defence  lan^uiihes — na- 
tional  honor  is  betrayed.     They  have  uni- 
formly proved  the  grave  of  empires. 

But  the  great  evil  of  this  chara8er  con- 
fifls  in  lovmg  the  creature  more  than  the 
Creator,  who  alone  is  worthy  of  oiir  fu- 
-  preme  affvtlion.  1  his  is  the  abundant 
fountain  from  which  tlow  all  other  (ins. 
1  he  love  of  God  is  the  love  of  virtue  in  its 
fource  and  elibnce ;  and  is,  therefore,  the 
proper  and  univerfal   prmcipie  of  duty. 


94         T^^'^^  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus, 

But  you  fee  in  this  unhappy  vohiptuary, 
and  in  thole  who  are  daily  follo\\ing  his 
example,  a  heart  devoted  to  plea  Cure  and 
vanity,  to  felf- indulgence  and  pride,  in  the 
midlt  of  which  God  cannot  find  his  pioper 
place.  Seiifual  enjoyments,  in  the  rapid 
growth  ot  their  habits,  loon  come  to  occu- 
py the  whole  man.  And  the  m  rcies  of 
God,  abuled  by  excefs,  tend  only  to  with- 
draw the  heart  from  liim  towards  whom 
they  w^ere  deligned  to  awaken  the  livelieit 
emotions  of  gratitude,  along  with  the  firm- 
eft  refolutions  of  duty.    , 

Such  are  the  outlines  of  a  charafter  con- 
figned  by  Chriil  to  fo  fearful  a  pumihment. 
A  character  highly  intereiling  to  the  preient 
age  in  which  we  fee  fu ch  numbers  wlio  aie 
lovers  of  pleajure  more  than  lovers  oj  God, 
And  that  degenerate  croud  is  daily  increaf- 
ing  v/ith  the  accefs  of  v,Talth,and  the  dillolu- 
tion  of  our  manners.  It  is  of  the  more  im- 
portance to  reveal  finners  of  this  defcription 
to  themfeives,  becaufe  they  are  deceived  by 
a  face  of  beauty  and  propriety  around  them ; 
and  the  continual  {latteries  that  wait  upon 
wealth  and  rank  give  men  a  fubilitute  for  a 
good  confcience  m  the  opinion  of  the  world, 


■A 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,         g^ 

and  connrm  the  favourable  eflimate  which 
they  make  of  themielves  by  the  imaginary 
eilimates  of  parafites,  and  fycophants,  or  of 
thofe  falfe  friends  who  are  attached  only  to 
their  fortunes.  They  are  not  holy  indeed, 
but  they  are  free  from  the  reproach  of  great 
vices.  Flattered  by  their  dependents,  ad- 
mired or  envied  by  the  world,  they  are  at 
p.^ace  with  themfelves,  and  they  imagine 
alfo  that  they  are  at  peace  with  God.  Ought 
they  not  to  tremble,  when  they  refleft  that 
this  is  the  character  of  the  only  reprobate 
recorded  in  the  golpel  ? 

Before  I  exhibit  the  melancholy  and 
afflicling  pitlure  of  his  ftate,  permit  me  to 
obferve  that,  though  the  parable  offers  di- 
rectly to  our  view  the  condemnation  only 
of  indolence  and  pleafure,  of  luxury  and 
pride  ;  yet,  indireftly,  it  teaches  us  that  felf- 
intcreil,  and  f  If-indulgence,  in  every  form 
in  which  they  can  be  purlued,  exclufively 
of  God,  fhall,  finally,  be  doomed  to  the 
fame  mifery. — The  different  clalfes  of  focie- 
ty  are  prone  to  contract  and  nourifh  preju- 
dices againft  one  anotlier.  And  the  poor 
are  apt  to  hear  with  fatisfatlion  every  de- 
clamation asfainfl  the  vices  of  the  wealth v 


gS        The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

and  the  great,  as  if  they  were  exempted,  by 
their  fituation,  from  every  reproach    that 
torches   them.     But  whoever  purfues,  or 
enjoys  the  blefiings  of  providence  without 
reierring  them  all  to  God,  and  acknowledg- 
ing his   goodnefs  in  their  acquifuion  and 
fubmitting  to  his  will  in  their  application — 
whoever  prefers  eafe  to  duty,  or  imereil  to 
charity — whoever  is  devoted  to  his  appe- 
tites, or  purfues  beyond  the  moderate  bound 
of  virtue,  the  plealures  of  fenliiality,  or  even 
of  amufement,  in  the  coarfeft  as  well  as  the 
moll  refined  form — whoever  does  not  mm- 
gle  a  fpirit  of  piety  and  benevolence  with 
all  his  occupations,  and  enjoyments — v.ho- 
ever  is  not  active,  faithful,  and  liberal  in 
his  efforts  to  promote  the  intereils  of  reli- 
gion, the  glory  of  God,  and  the  happinefs 
of  mankind  in  that  ilation  in  which  provi- 
dence hath  placed  him.,  although  he  is  not 
clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linnen,  is  guilty 
of  the  fame  crime,  and  is  heir  to  the  fame 
deiliny  with  this  proud  and  wealthy  finner. 

That  defiiny  I  am  now  to  unfold.  And, 
as  it  is  the  principal  objecl  of  the  parable, 
it  will  therefore  require  of  you  the  more 
patient  and  ferious  attention.     But,  that  I 


The  Pack  Man  and  Lazarus.         gj 

may  not  wander  into  regions  of  unauthor- 
ized fancy  and  conjetlure,  and  thereby  de- 
traft  from  that  weight  which  truth  and  cer- 
tainty alone  can  give  to  every  reprefenta- 
tion  that  is  made,  and  every  dotlrine  that 
is  delivered  from  this  place,  I  fiiall  derive 
the  whole  of  that  intereflinsr  view  which  I 
am  about  to  take  direftly  from  tlie  facred 
text. 

*•'  It  came  to  pafs  that  tlie  poor  man  died 
and  was  carried  by  angels  into  Abraham's 
bofom.  The  rich  man  alfo  died,  and  was 
buried — and,  in  hell  he  lift  up  his  eyes,  be- 
ing in  torments,  and  feetli  -Abraham  afar 
off,  and  Lazarus  in  his  borom.  And  he 
cried  and  faid,  Father  Abraham !  "have 
mercy  on  me,  and  fend  Lazarus  that  he 
may  dip  the  tip  of  his  hnger  in  water  and 
cool  my  tongue,  for  I  am  tormented  in  this 
flame!  Bat  Abraham  faid,  Son !  remem- 
ber that  thou,  in  thy  life  time,rcceivedft  thv 
good  things,  and  likewife  Lazarus  evil 
things  ;  but  now  he  is  comforted,  and  thou 
art  tormented.  And  belides  all  this,  be- 
tween us  and  you  there  is  a  great  gulph 
fixed,  fo  that  they  who  would  pafs  from 
O 


98         The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus, 

hence  to  you  cannot,  neither  can  they  pafs 
to  us  vrho  would  come  from  thence." 

In  this  reprefentation  we  may  remark 
four  fources  of  mifery  to  this  wretched 
foul — the  remote,  and  hopelefs  view  ot  the 
felicities  of  heaven,  v/hich  he  hath  forfeited 
by  his  fins — the  recolle61ion  of  pad  plea- 
fures  which  now  ferve  only  to  increafe  his 
fufferinfrs — the  dirc8;  pains  of  an  avenging 
fire — and,  finally,  the  defpair  that  mufl 
fpring  from  the  dreadful  conviction  that 
his  miferies  fhall  have  no  end. 

"  He  feeth  Abraham  afar  off,  and  Laza- 
rus in  his  bofom," 

In  fome  v/ay  which  we  cannot  at  prefent 
comprehend,  it  is  probable  that  the  glory 
of  the  heavenly  ftate  will  be  revealed  to  the 
Vir\\i2i^]iy  fpirits  in  prifon,  only  to  heighten 
the  feverity  of  their  iufferings  by  a  know- 
ledge of  the  felicity  which  they  have  loft  by 
their  crimes.  Thofe  clear  difcoveries  of 
God,  of  which  the  foul  in  its  unembodied 
itate  will  be  capable,  may  becom.e  a  fource 
of  mifery  to  the  reprobate  in  hell,  propor- 
tioned to  the  ineffable  happinefs  that  flows 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.         gg^ 

from  them  to  the  redeemed  in  heaven. 
The  prefence  of  virtue  even  among  men 
commonly  confounds  vice,  and  a(le61s  it 
with  ihame  and  remorfe.  And  fometimcs 
we  have  feen  the  appreheniions  of  divine 
juftice  feizing  upon  the  mind,  and  concur- 
ring with  the  fenfe  of  guih,  ovcrv/hehn  it  in 
deipair.  If  the  imperfecl;  virtue  of  a  worm 
of  the  dud  ca»  often  cover  an  offender  with 
confufion — if  a  fmgie  ray  of  the  eternal  juf- 
tice of  heaven  let  in  upon  the  guilty  con- 
fcience  can  fo  aj^iiate  and  convulie  the  fouL 
what  will  be  its  terror  and  difmay  when  all 
the  dreadful  fplendors  of  infinite  purity, 
fiiall  be  forever  prefent  to  her  view  ? 

From  another  principle,  the  difcovery  of 
the  diviuv^  perfection  may  increafe  the  un- 
happinefs  of  the  guilty  who  are  excluded 
from  it,  and  are  rendered  incapable  of  en- 
iovins:  it.  God  is  the  natural  centre  of  the 
foul.  Towards  him  Ihe  will  propably  tend, 
when  difcncumbered  of  the  body,  by  a 
llrong  and  phifical  attraction  as  the  only 
Iburce  of  her  happinefs,  even  while  a  moral 
difcordancy  may  feparate  her  from  him, 
and  an  infupportable  weight  of  guilt  fink 
lier   dov/n  to  the  abyfs   of  impure   fouls. 


1 00         The  Pdch  Man  and  Lazarus, 

Painful  and  dreadful  will  be  the  confliQ  be- 
tv/een  thefe  phincai  and  moral  tendencies. 
Often  carried  out  in  fervent  and  inextin- 
guifhable  afpirations,  in  fighs  and  groans  to 
be  re-united  to  the  infinite  centre  and  the 
fource  of  good,  fhe  will  feel  herfelf  repelled 
from  it  by  the  impurity  of  her  nature,  and 
the  unchangeabienefs  of  her  delliny.  If, 
for  a  moment  ftie  feems  to  rife  towards  hea- 
ven in  paffionate  and  diitra6led  wiihes,  it  is 
only  to  plunge  her,  the  next  moment, 
deeper  in  the  hopelefs  horrors  of  her  prifon. 

The  punifliment  of  this  miferable  fuffer- 
er  feems  alfo,  to  have  been  increafed  by  the 
mOil  aCliciing  and  involuntary  compari- 
fons. — Afar  oif  he  fees  Lazarus  enjoying 
eternal  reft.  The  wretch  who  once  lay  for- 
gotten at  his  gate,  when  a  profperous  for- 
time,  and  continual  pleafures  made  him 
forget  that  he  was  a  man,  is  now  clothed 
with  glory  and  immortality,  while  he  him- 
felf  lies  wrapt  in  unquenchable  fires.  Mi- 
ferable foul !  A  merciful  heaven,  and  an 
avenging  hell  feem  equally  to  concur  in 
his  perdition.  Imagine  v/hat  v;ill  then  be 
his  fecret  fentiments,  or  his  defpairing  cries. 
—Oh  !  to  refemble  that  man  whom  once  I 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,         loi 

would  not  have  fet  v/ith  the  dogs  of  my 
flock  !  What  a  falfe  eilimate  have  I  made 
of  true  honor,  and  of  true  happinefs  !  Infi- 
nite, folly  !  to  throv/  av;ay  the  immortal 
prize  that  v*'as  in  my  offer  !  that  felicity  I 
might  have  poffeffed. — But  ah  !  I  have  fa- 
crihced  it  for  frivolous  joys  that  leave  no- 
thing real  behind  them  but  the  diilrafting 
lling  of  their  remembrance  ! 

This  is  the  fecond  fource  of  his  m.ifery, 
the  recolle6lion  of  the  pail. 

*'  Son  !  faid  Abraham,  remember  that 
thou,  in  thy  life  time  receivedft  thy  good 
things."  And  it  is  rcafonabie  to  believe 
that  he  would  forever  torment  himfelf  by 
an  inceffant  vibration  of  mind  between  the 
pad  and  the  prefent.  In  a  moment  all  his 
former  happinefs,  and  the  whole  profperity 
of  his  firlf  fortune,  rufh.es  on  his  recollec- 
tion— its  lofs  fliews  it  with  increafe — and 
again,  in  a  moment,  all  the  horrors  of  his 
prefent  ftate  furround  him. — Dreadful  com- 
parifon  of  what  he  was,  with  v.'hat  he  is  ! — 
Fortune  feemed  at  my  command — my  days 
palled  in  feilivity,  my  nights  in  piea- 
iure~~perpeiual  gaieties  made  up  the  fcene 


102        The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

of  life,  and  feldom  was  it  interrupted  by 
fear  or  by  fufpicion.  But  oh  !  thofe  fatal 
joys !  Amidll  deceiving  fmiles  that  baniih- 
ed  apprehenficn,  they  were  fecretly  leading 
me  to  that  dreadful  precipice  from  whence 
they  have  at  length,  cad  me  into  this  tor- 
menting lake !  T  he  mercies  of  divine  pro- 
vidence, which  if  they  had  been  enjoyed 
with  moderation,  and  with  gratitude,  might 
have  prepared  my  foul  for  heaven,  have, 
alas  !  been  employed  only  to  nourifh  this 
body  for  the  [lames  that  now  confume  it. 

Add  to  the  comforts  and  pleafures  of 
life,  thofe  excellent  means  of  grace  with 
which  God  may  have  favoured  him  for 
the  attainment  of  his  falvation — PoiTibly, 
happy  natural  talents  and  difpofitions  —an 
ufeful  education — a  pious  domellic  examiple 
■ — the  counfels  and  concern  of  friends,  of 
parents,  of  the  miniUers  of  religion  who 
would  have  led  him  to  the  true  objects  of 
duty — the  re[le6tions  of  an  improved  reafon 
— the  admonitions  of  an  enlightened  con- 
fcience — the  inllrutlions  of  the  word  and 
providence  of  God — and,  co-operating 
\vith  all  thefe,  the  fecret  fuggeflions  of  the 
holy    ipirit.      Thefe    ineiiimable  mercies. 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,        103 

which  are  dcfigned  to  cultivate  the  foul 
for  the  fociety  of  the  blefied,  mufl  aggravate 
the  condemnation  of  thofe  who  refifl  or 
defpife  them.  The  recoUeftion  of  abufed 
privileges  that  once  placed  him  fo  near 
the  gate  of  heaven,  would  urge  the  iting 
of  remorfe  the  deeper  in  his  brealt:. 

Thefe  are  the  pains  of  memory.  But 
fome  more  direct  punifhment  by  an  aven- 
ging fire  feems  to  be  implied  in  his  bitter 
exclamation,  lam  tormented  in  this  JIame. 
This  is  the  third  circumftance  in  his  fuffer- 
ings  that  deferves  your  mod  ferious  atten- 
tion. 

The  language  of  the  holy  fcriptures 
hardly  leaves  us  room  to  doubt  but  that 
divine  juftice  will  employ  an  elemental  fire 
as  a  minider  of  its  dreadful  decrees  on  the 
fmner.  And  it  is  of  importance  to  incul- 
cate this  truth  upon  mankind :  for,  while 
they  conceive  that  the  torments  of  hell 
fhali  confiil  chieRy  in  mental  pains,  hnners, 
who  have  been  accuRomed  to  manage  their 
confcience  in  this  world,  will  ftill  hope  to 
elude  its  reproaches  in  the  next.  Suffering 
gives   the   chief  force  to  the  fentiment  of 


1 04       The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus, 

guilt.  And  certainly,  nothing  can  be  more 
awful  than  the  denunciations  of  the  holy 
fpirit  upon  this  fubjecl — "  The  Ion  of  man 
fnall  fend  forth  his  angels,  and  they  (hall 
gather  out  of  his  kingdom  all  things  that 
offend,  and  thofe  who  do  iniquity,  and  ftiall 
caft  them  into  a  furnace  of  lire.  There  fhall 
be  wailino;  and  i^nafliinsc  of  teeth."*  "The 
Lord  Jefus  fhail  be  revealed  from  heaven 
with  his  mighty  angels  in  flaming  fire,  taking 
vengeance  on  them  that  know  not  God,  and 
that  obey  not  the  gofpel  of  our  Lord  Jefus 
Chrift,  who  fhall  be  punifhed  with  everlaff- 
ing  deflruftion  from  the  prefence  of  the 
Lord,  and  from  the  glory  of  his  power."f 
"  If  any  man  worfhip  the  beafl — he  fhall  be 
tormented  with  fire  and  brimflone — and  the 
fmoke  of  their  torment  afcendeth  up  for- 
ever and  ever  ;  and  they  have  no  reft  day 
nor  night.";!; — Ah  !  what  a  picture  of  mifery 
and  defpair !  The  hnner,'  forever  penetrat- 
ed by  avenging  fires,  finds  his  being  ftill  re- 
paired by  an  invifible  power,  and  growing 
again  to  the  flame — forever  wafting,  yet 
never  deflroyed. 


*  Mat.  xiil.  41,  42. 
-\  II.  ThefT.  .i  7,  8,  9. 
1  Rev.  xiv.  9,  ic,  II. 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.        105 

In  the  midft  of  the  fire  that  is  not  quench- 
ed, is  the  worm  that  never  dies,  and  fills 
thofe  dreadful  abodes  with  eternal  w.ailtvgs 
andgnajiiing  cfieeth.  Under  the  anguifti  of 
fuch  futferings,  in  what  fearful  execrations 
will  the  reprobate  children  of  defpair  vent 
the  bitternefs  of  their  rage,  or  pour  forth 
their  complaints  to  their  unpitying  dun- 
geons !  They  curfe  the  day  that  firfi;  (hone 
upon  a  wretched  being — they  curfe  the  rea- 
fon  that  made  them  capable  of  finning — 
they  curfe  the  author  of  their  miferable  ex- 
igence— they  curfe  that  exiilence  that 
makes  them  only  fenfible  of  pain.  Their 
fweeteft  confolation  would  be,  to  be  blotted 
outof  the  works  of  God.  Ah!  hovr  dreadful 
is  the  (late  that  forces  them  to  cry  for  eter- 
nal death,  as  a  refup-e  from  eternal  fuifer- 
ings  !  How  much  more  dreadful  is  it  when 
death  invoked  will  never  come  ! 

This  is  the  lad  circumdance  of  terror  in 
thefe  fufferings,  that  they  will  be  endlels. 

The  eternal  duration  of  the  punilhments 

of  the  wicked,  in  a  future  ftate,  is  declared 

to  us  in  terms  fo  exprefs  in  many  paffages, 

and  is  fo  applied  in  the  whole  (lyle  of  the 

*  P 


io6       The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus, 

facred  writings,  that  it  requires  the  mofl 
llrained  criticifms  to  make  them  fpeak  any 
other  language.  This  is  among  the  doc- 
trines which  we  ought  to  receive  impUcitly 
from  the  word  oC  God,  according  to  the 
moil  fimple  and  obvious  meaning  of  the 
terms  in  which  it  is  declared.  We  are  una- 
ble to  penetrate  even  by  probable  conjec- 
tures, into  the  eternal  world  ;  and  our  rea- 
fon,  or  our  fenfibiiities  muft  form  the  mofl 
inadequate  meafures,  by  which  to  judge  of 
the  moral  plans  of  infinite  wifdom,  and  in- 
finite jiiilice.  For  proof  of  this  we  need  go 
no  farther  than  thofe  innumerable  fcenes  of 
mifery  thatexift  in  the  prefent  world.  What 
a  different  fyftem  of  things  would  the  pre- 
fumptuous  mind  of  man  have  prefcribed  to 
the  wifdom  of  the  Deity  ?  If  it  were  not  wit- 
nefs  of  the  fafts,  would  it  not  have  denied 
the  poffibility  of  their  exiftence  in  the  works 
of  an  infinitely  benevolent  being?  Incom- 
petent then,  as  we  are,  to  determine  what  is 
wife  or  good  in  the  boundlefs  and  eternal 
fyftem  of  the  Creator,  our  wifdom  and  our 
fafety  confuls  in  receiving  fubmilfively,  and 
without  any  modifications  fuggefted  by  our 
own  feelings,  what  he  hath  been  pleafcd  to 
reveal  concerning  the  infcrutable  fubjefts 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.        loj 

of  eternity,  and,  efpecially,  concerning  the 
everlaflinti  ilate  of  wicked  men.  Hear  then 
the  righteous  and  fearful  decree  that^.all  be 
paffed  upon  the  guilty  at  the  lad  judgment 
— "  depart  ye  curfed  into  everlajluig  fire 
prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels."  So' 
thejefiiailgo  away  into  everUfiing punyJrinent. 
And  the  jmoke  of  their  torment  ajcenddh  fore- 
ver and  ever.  The  moft  dreadful  idea  in  the 
torments  of  hell  is,  that  they  fiiall  h&  forever 
and  ever.  The  furnace  of  the  wrath  of  God 
burns  with  unquenchable  fire.  When  the 
gui-lty  foul  furveys  the  horrors  of  her  delli- 
ny,  then  cafis  her  view  forward  into  futuri- 
ty as  far  as  her  thoughts  can  reach,  but  can 
find  no  period,  no  mitigation  of  her  pains — 
what  defpair  muft  overvrhelm  her! — Dreacjr- 
ful  is  the  prefeiit !  but  oh  ! — the  future  is 
hopelefs ! 

Such  is  the  unhappy  termination  of  a  life 
of  pleafure  and  felf  indulgence,  which  the 
hiitory  of  this  rich  man  prefents  to  us.  It 
paints,  in  the  moll  aflPefting  colours,  the  in- 
fatuation of  thofe  who  facrifice  the  immor- 
tal interefts  of  the  foul  for  the  falfe  and  fu- 
gitive enjoyments  of  fenfe.  This  ftory  con- 
veys a  lelfon  the  mere  inftruftive,  becaufe  it 


io8       The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus, 

is  that  of  a  man  who,  as  far  as  appears  to  us, 
was  not  profligate,   cruel,   or  uiijuft.     His 
fupreme  object  feems  to  have  been  to  enjoy 
himfelf.     Vain,   perhaps,   and  oflentatious, 
he  lived  in  fplendor  and  in  pleafure.     But, 
in  the   indulgence  of  pleafure  he   feems  to 
have  ht&n  forgetful  of  his  duties  to  heaven, 
rather  than  wipious — inattentive  to  the  offices 
of  charity,  v/hich  the  necefiities  of  Lazarus 
demanded,  rather  than  inhuman — incapa- 
ble o^  xhQ  f elf -government  ciudfelf-denialsihzt 
religion  requires,  rather  than  indecent  in  his 
morals.     Yet,  at  laft,  you  fee  him  make  his 
bed  in  hell.     From   the  flattering  arms  of 
unfufpefted  joys,  he  defcends  to  the  cruel 
embrace   of  everlailing  flames.      Confider 
and  lay  to  heart,  ye  who  are  lovers  of  plea- 
fure more  than  lovers  of  God,  this  awful  ex- 
ample of  the  holinefs  and  juflice  of  the  Su- 
preme   Judge — ye  who   flatter  yourfelves 
that  you  are  innocent  as  long  as  you  are  not 
profligate — who  imagine  that,   if  you  pre- 
serve your  manners  within  certain  bounda- 
ries permitted  by  fafliion,  and  do  not  open- 
ly offend  againflithe  fentiments  of  mankind, 
you  will  not  be  queflioned  for  the  graces  of 
the   gofpel.     Ah  !  look  on  this    niiferable 
fan  cf  perdition  and  correct  errors  fo  fatal 


The  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus.        109 

It  is  poiTible  to  preferve  a  fair  and  decent 
exterior,  to  be  approved  and  even  admired 
by  the  world,  and  yet  be  found  wanting  in 
the  balances  of  divine  juilice. 

Above  all,  let  thofe  who  refufe  to  liflen 
to  admonition  or  advice  in  their  career  of 
pieafure — ^^who  feldom   are  calm  and  im- 
partial enough  to  reafon  fairly  on  the  per- 
nicious tendency,  arKl  fatal  termination  of 
their    courfe — who    have    not   fentiraent 
enough  to  be  moved  by  any  reprefentation 
of  the  charms  of  virtue,  nor  grace  fufticient 
to  underitand  the  beauties  of  holinefs,  at- 
tend to  the  objed  prefented  to  them  in  this 
parable.     It  addreifes   our  fenfes  and  our 
fears   the    only    remaining   principles    by 
which  we  can  reach  the  heart  when  reafon 
is  overborne  and  the  fentiments  of  piety 
are  extinguiihed  in  the  riot  of  the  paflions. 
For  this  purpofe  I  have  endeavoured   to 
raife    up  to  your  view  an  unhappy  fpirit 
from  thofe  difmal  abodes,  that  the  imao-e 
of  another's  mifery  may  bring  you,   if  pof- 
fible,  to  timely  reflexion.     You  behold  in 
him  a  preacher  who   fpeaks  to  you  from 
the  place  of  fufferings.     You  vrho  afl^.  with 
affected  indiiFerence,  or  with  impious  levi- 


no       Th2  Rich  Man  and  Lazarus. 

ty  what  pafTes  in  that  invifible  v/orld,  learn 
it  from  one  who  fliews  you  what  he  is,  and 
tclis  you  what  he  fuffers. — He  befought 
Abraham  that  Lazarus  might  be  lent  to 
admoniih  his  incredulous  brethren  of  their 
danger — Miferable  foul !  that  office  lie  per- 
forms himfelf  to  you.  And  he  raifes  his 
voice  amongft  us  to  day  to  warn  you  left 
you  alfo  come  to  that  place  of  torment. 
Eternal  author  of  truth !  add  to  this  awful 
admonition,  the  effectual  perfuafion  of  thy 
Holy  Spirit! 

AMEN! 


L    111    J 
DISCOURSE    V. 

TI-IE    PENITENT  WOMAN  AT  THE    FEET 
OF    JESUS. 


«««i3i— 2s»~- 


Luke   vii.  37,  38. 

And  behold  a  luoman  in  the  city,  who  zcas  a 
Jinner,  whenJJie  knew  that  Jejusjat  at  meat 
in  the  Pharifees  houfe,  brought  an  alabajler 
box  of  ointment,  andjlood  at  his  feet  behind 
him  weeping,  and  began  to  wafli  his  feet 
with  her  tears,  and  did  wipe  them  with  the 
hairs  of  her  head,  and  hffed  his  feet,  and 
anointed  them  zvith  the  ointment. 

A  COURTEZAN  of  Jerufalcm  appears 
in  this  hiftory  as  an  humble  penitent 
at  the  feet  of  Jcfus.  In  the  purfuits  of 
pleafure  her  palTions  had  overbpjne  that 
cxquihte  delicacy  of  fenj^iiient,  and  that 
iimid  and  retiring  modcfty  which,  as  it  is 


112  The  Penitent  Woman 

the  principal  charm,  is  alfo  die  firmell 
guard  of  the  virtue  of  the  fex.  She  had 
loft  even  that  fcrupulous  regard  to  charac- 
ter and  propriety  of  condud  in  the  eye  of 
the  world  which  is  commonly  the  lail  vir- 
tue which  a  woman  abandons.  The  disor- 
ders of  her  life  were  publicly  known.  But 
the  vivacity  of  her  feelings,  which  w^as  pro- 
bably the  firft  caufe  of  her  errors,  became, 
when  direded  by  divine  grace  towards  its 
proper  objefts,  the  chief  fource  of  that  live- 
ly contrition,  and  thofe  tender  exprefiions 
of  attachment  to  her  Saviour,  which  render 
her  penitence  fo  interefting.  She  had  mis- 
fpent  the  generous  force  of  her  heart  on 
obje6ls  that  only  deluded  and  difappointed 
her.  But  no  fooner  had  flie  heard  this 
fublime  teacher  fent  from  God,  who  pointed 
out  to  her  the  true  road  to  happinefs,  than 
{he  renounced  her  fins,  and  attached  heifelf 
Jolely  to  him.  Her  repentance  became  as 
confpicuous  as  her  vices  had  been  public. 
Her  vanity,  nourilhed  by  the  infidious  flat- 
teries of  men,  (l^e  mortified  by  the  deepeft 
liumiHations.  The  feet  of  her  Lord  fhe 
walhed  with  the  tears  of  her  remorfe,  and 
her  gratitude.  Although  fhe  was  not  igno- 
rant of  the  reproaches,  and  the  fneers  fiie 


at  the  Feet  of  Jefus,  113 

inufl  encounter  in  difcharging  thefe  pious 
offices  from  the  company  alFembled  at  the 
Pharifee'shoufejWho  were  acquainted  with 
her  former  habits  of  hfe,  yet  (lie  refolved  to 
conflrain  her  feelings,  and  refolutelv  to 
meet  them  alL  Her  humiliations,  her  tears, 
and  the  facrifices  which  fhe  made  atteft  at 
once  the  depth  of  her  forrow  for  her  offen- 
ces, and  the  fervor  of  her  love  for  her  Sa- 
viour. They  fliew  us  a  woman  of  high 
fenfibility  ;  but  of  a  fenfibility  that,  having 
once  been  abafed,  is  now  the  more  pro- 
foundl);  penetrated  v/ith  the  fentiments 
of  repentance — that,  having  once  been 
wafted  on  vain  and  criminal  objecls,  at- 
taches itfelf  now  with  the  greater  ardor  to 
the  chief-good.  The  advantages  of  perfon, 
and  the  decorations  of  art  w^hich  flie  had 
employed  to  fofter  vanity,  or  imflame  the 
pallions,  fhe  now  renounces  or  neglefts. 
Having  once  didionored  religion,  and  of- 
fended virtue  by  the  diffolutenefs  of  her 
manners,  (he  is  refolved  to  make  them  all 
the  reparation  in  her  power  by  the  publici- 
ty of  her  converfion. — She  inftrufts  us  there- 
fore by  her  love — by  her  humility — by  her 
felf-dtTiial — and  by  her  zeal.  Thefe  are 
genuine  characleriftics  of   fmcere  repent- 

O 


1 1 4  The  Penitent  IVoman 

ance :  and,  by  a  few  refleftions  on  eack 
in  the  following  difcourfe,  I  fnall  endeavor 
to  develope  the  fpirit  of  a  real  penitent. 

I.  In  the  firil  place,  we  difcern  in  her 
conduct  the  fervor  of  her  love  to  the  Sa- 
viour. 

She  Rood  behind  him  as  he  lay  reclined 
at  the  table  of  the  Pharifee,  and  Ihed  upon 
his  feet  a  flood  of  tears.  Vv  ith  officious 
tendernefs  (lie  wiped  them  with  her  hair ; 
and  anointed  them  with  a  precious  perfume 
relerved  fOr  this  pious  purpofe,  from  the 
lately  abufed  {lore  of  her  wealth."^  Thofe 
offices  of  hofpitality  v.diich  were  expefled 
only  from  the  mailer  of  the  houfe,t  (he  per- 


*  The  courtezans  of  antiqu!t7  not  infrequently  acquired 
large  fortunes.  Their  drcfs  and  furniture  were  rich.  They 
were  commonly  diiHuQ^uiihed  for  beauty.  And  their  houfes 
being  often  places  of  public  refort  for  men  of  talents  and 
leifure,  they  were  ufually  remarkable  alfo  for  wit.  Atten- 
tion to  thefe  circumftances  may  be  neceffary  in  order  to 
perceive  the  proprieLy  of  fume  expreffions  in  this  diicourfe. 

f  In  that  age  the  mailer  of  the  houfe  always  ordered  his 
guefts  to  be  furnilhcd  with  water  for  their  feet,  and  fre- 
quently with  a  bath  for  the  whole  perfon  before  eating,' 
and,  after  bathing,  W'ith  ointment  with  which  to  anoint 
themfclves.  Their  polture  at  table  is  known  to  have  been 
reclining  upon  couches,  which  explains  the  attitude  in  vvhick 
this  wojnan  is  reprefented. 


at  the  Feet  of  jfus.  1 1 5 

forms  lierfelf,  and  in  the  manner  mod  cal- 
culated to  exprels  the  fervor  of  her  afieCtion. 
Thole  tears  were  not  merely  the  11  reams  of 
her  repeniance  for  her  errors,  but  the  baril: 
of  a  tender  heart  overllowing  with  the  lovs 
of  Chrifl. 

In  her  piirfuit  of  pleafure  (lie  had  been 
unhappy.  Deceived,  probably,  by  faith- 
lefs  lovers,  and  difappionted  in  every  crea- 
ture of  the  happinefs  (he  had  expected 
from  it, (lie  fought  only,  by  perpetual  change 
of  objecl,  to  hll  the  painful  void  wdiich  all 
obje6ts  in  fuccelTion  left.  Her  padions  im- 
portunate and  imperious,  having,  involved 
her  in  dilhonorabie  lituations,  from  which 
liie  had  not  the  couras^e  to  free  herfelf, 
urged  her  againd  reputation,  againft  con- 
viction, and,  often,  even  againft  her  wifhes, 
to  the  purfuit  of  new  gratifications  from 
which  ihe  perpetually  returned  with  frefk 
proofs  of  their  vanity  and  mifery. 

But  when  Jefus  Chrid  had  opened  to  her 
the  true  Iburces  of  happinefs,  and  enabled 
her  by  the  aids  of  his  grace  to  break  her 
unfortunate  and  criminal  connexions  with 
ib  many  obje61s   that  had  occupied  and 


ii5  The  Peniient  Woman 

deceived  her  heart,  her  alFeclions,  that  had 
been  dilTipated  and  wailed  in  a  ihoufand 
different  itreams,  now  collected  into  one 
channel,  flow  to  her  Redeemer  in  a  full  and 
abundant  tide.  All  her  fenfibilities  here 
enjoy  a  lawful,  a  delightful,  and  unlimited 
exercife. 

Many  confide  rations  would  combine  to 
increafe  the  fervor  of  her  devotion.  Her 
difappointments  from  the  world,  and  the 
fliocks  with  which  her  heart  had  met  from 
her  firil  lovers,  would  prepare  her  to  return 
to  God  as  her  exceeding  joy.  Her  mind 
v/as  opened,  by  divine  grace,  to  the  difco- 
veiy  and  the  love  of  infinite  perfeftion,  to 
which,  amidil  fo  many  criminal  loves,  it  had 
hitherto  remained  blind.  Having  been  con- 
\erfant  only  with  the  vile  and  deteiiable 
forms  of  vice,  the  charms  of  virtue  appear- 
ed to  her  with  a  tranfcendent  and  aivine 
beauty. 

But,  at  this  moment,  fhe  mod  deeply 
felt  her  obligations  to  her  Saviour,  jefus 
had  reiiored  her  from  the  path  of  infamy  to 
the  path  of  honor.  An  outcail  from  focie- 
ty  for  faults,  for  which  no  repentance  can 


at  the  Feet  of  J  ejus.  117 

atone  among  men,  (lie  was  graciouHy  re- 
ceived by  Inin  who  knew  her  heart,  and  v/ho 
faw  her  fincerity.  He  enlightened  her 
mind — he  taught  her  hopes  to  afpire — he 
forgave  her  otiences — he  was  himfelf  the 
facniice  for  the  fins  which  he  forgave. 
Awaken  d  to  a  view  of  all  her  guilt,  and  to 
the  mifery  and  infamy  to  w^hich  her  pafiions 
liad  reduced  her,  ready  to  defpair  of  the  mer- 
cy of  God,  as  Ihe  had  experienced  the  un- 
pitying  cenmre  of  the  world,  with  what 
gratitude  and  joy  would  Ihe  fee  herfelf  re- 
iiored  to  purity  by  the  word  of  Chrill,  and, 
by  his  intercellion  and  atonement,  made  an 
heir  of  immortal  felicity  and  glory  !  Here 
was  the  fource  of  thofe  ilrong  emotions, 
and  of  thofe  affeRionate  and  alhduous  at- 
tentions, which  file  was  unable  to  reilrain, 
even  in  the  prefence  of  men  who  fu(pe6ted 
her  motives,  and  were  unfriendly  to  her 
character. 

This  is  the  hiftory  of  a  real  penitent. 
The  love  of  Chriii,  and  of  God  through 
him,  now  reigned  fupremely  in  her  heart. 
*'  Thou  {halt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with 
all  thy  heart,  with  all  thy  foul,  with  all  thy 
iirength,  and  with  all  thy  mind,"    is  the 


ii8  The  Penitent  IVovian 

law  equally  of  rcafon  and  of  revelatioir* 
Towards  that  eternal  fource  of  intellioence 

o 

and  truth  a  pure  and  enlightened  reafon  will 
feek  to  bend  ail  her  powers.  Into  that  in- 
finite ocean  of  goodnefs  and  benignity,  all 
the  little  llreams  of  good  in  man  will  de- 
light to  pour  themfelves.  A  mind,  there- 
fore, that  is  truly  penitent,  and  renewed 
after  the  image  of  God,  will  demoniirate 
its  change  by  the  warm  and  lively  courleof 
its  alfe^lions  towards  him.  The  heart  he 
formed  for  himfelf  To  withdraw  it  from 
him,  and  to  devote  it  exclunvely  to  other 
objects  is  a  criminal  diverfion  of  its  pov.ers. 
It  is,  befides,  miilaking  the  means  of  our 
happinefs  to  feek  it  from  things  lO  imper- 
fectj  treacherous,  and  inconilant.  A  man 
who  had  amply  tried  whatever  pleafures 
llie  world  can  yield  returned  from  them 
with  the  fad  experience  that  all  is  vanity 
and  vexation  of'  fpirit.  On  the  fluftuating 
ocean  of  life  nothmg  is  liable  or  fatisiying; 
and  the  relllefs  heart  of  man,  alv/ays  deceiv- 
ed, yet  never  taught  v/ifdom  by  its  errors, 
only  abandons  one  purfuit  for  another  equal- 
ly vain.  When,  convinced  at  lail  that  its  in- 
felicity arifes.not  fo  much  from  miOaking  its 
objetl  as  from  the  eifential  imperfc6lion  of 


at  the  Feet  of  J  ejus.  _  -  ■ , 

the  obje61s  exclarively  of  God,  it  returns 
to  him  who  embraces  in  himfelf  all  that  is 
excellent  and  peri'e6l  in  the  univerle,  with 
what  llrong  and  fervent  affeftions  will  it 
cleave  to  hnn  as  its  chief  rrood  ?  In  Iriin 
it  finds  a  fweet  repofe  from  a-l  the  agita- 
tions and  tumults  of  the  w^orld — He  is  able 
to  fix  all  its  wanderings — He  can  fatisfy  the 
infinity — he  can  fill  the  immenfity  of  its 
defires.  He  offers  to  its  affettions  the  moll 
fublime  of  all  objetls,  infinite  pov/er,  and 
benignity,  infinite  purity  and  truth.  The 
love  of  God  in  a  good  man,  feizing  upon 
all  the  powers  of  his  foul,  v/ill  mingle  it- 
felf  not  only  with  his  devotions,  but  with 
all  his  ordinary  occupations.  He  fees  God 
in  every  thing  that  he  beholds,  he  poRef- 
fes  him,  if  I  may  fpeak  fo,  in  every  thing 
that  he  enjoys.  The  whole  w^orld,  that  was 
curfed  to  man  by  fin,  is  again  fanftihed  to 
his  ufe  by  the  fpirit  of  divine  love. 

But  the  higheft  and  moft  delightful  ex- 
ercife  of  this  affeftion  a  fmcere  penitent  mufl 
find  in  contemplating  his  Saviour,  and  re- 
cognizing his  obligations  to  redeeming  mer- 
cy. Is  it  poffible  to  believe  the  truths  which 
are  taught  in  the  facred  fcriptures  conceni- 


120  The  Penitent  WoTtian 

ing  the  guilt  of  man,  and  the  incarnation 
and  facriiice  of  the  fon  of  God,  and  to  feel 
our  own  interefl  in  them,  and  not  to  be  pe- 
netrated v/ith  the  tendereft,  and  the  fublim- 
eil  fentiments  of  gratitude  and  admiration  ? 
By  his  grace,  the  (laves  of  fin  are  made  free 
toiththe  liberty  ofthefons  of  God — The  pri- 
foners  of  juilice  are  made  io  Jing  of  mer- 
cy— the  vidims  of  eternal  death  are  made 
heirs  of  immortal  life  ! — He  hath  redeemed 
us  from  the  curje  oj  the  laio,  Jiawrtg  been  made 
a  curfefor  us,  and  having  borne  our  fins  in 
his  ozvn  body  on  the  tree,  0  the  heighth  and 
the  dxpth,  the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  love 
of  Chrijl  that  pojfeth  knowledge  !  There  are 
moments  in  which  a  pious  man  feels  thefe 
ideas  to  be  almoft  too  powerful  for  the  fee- 
blenefs  of  human  nature.  No  language  is 
fufiicient  to  exprefs  the  emotions  that  fill  his 
heart.  Like  the  woman,  he  vv^eeps  at  the 
footilool  of  divine  grace — he  would,  if  pof- 
fible,  kifs  the  Redeemer's  feet.  But  the  bur- 
den of  his  gratitude  often  makes  him  dumb, 
and  he  gives  himfelf  up  to  unutterable  feel^ 
ings. 

Indifcreet  a6ls  of  zeal  in  fome  weak  but 
well-meaning  perfons,  and  hypocritical  pre- 


at  the  Feet  of  J  ejus.  121 

tenfions  in  others  to  high  fervors  in  religion, 
in  order  to  cover  unv/orthy  defigns,  have, 
with  men  of  reflefting  minds,  and  worldly- 
principles,  brought  a  degree  of  fufpicion  on 
all  the  vifible  a6ls  of  a  warm  and  affeflion- 
ate  piety.  They  would  reduce  religion  to 
a  lukewarm  profrfiion,  and  a  formal  detail 
of  exterior  rites  in  which  the  heart  is  not 
concerned.  But,  furely,  if  m.en  be  capable 
of  high  fentiment,  or  of  ftrong  and  tender 
feelings  upon  any  occafions,  the  great  and 
tranfcendent  obje61:s  prefented  to  us  in  the 
gofpel  fliould  have  the  power  of  awakening 
them  in  the  bread:.  And  the  truth  is.  what- 
ever be  the  degree  of  natural  fenhbility 
which  a  good  man  pofiTefTes,  it  will  Ihine 
out  in  his  religious  profelhon.  Love  pre- 
fcrves  tlie  fame  charafter  in  reIie"ion  as  in 
other  fubje61s.  It  cannot  be  fmothered  in 
the  foul.  It  feeks  for  means  by  v/hich  to 
exprefs  itfelf,  not  only  in  the  fervency  of  its 
devotions  but  in  its  zeal  for  whatever  is 
connecled  with  the  glory  of  God,  the  f^^Ii- 
city  of  mankind,  and  the  progrefs  of  piety 
and  virtue  in  the  world.  It  is  fuperior  to 
a  cold  and  inanimate  formality,  to  which 
the  error,  and  tiie  practice  of  {o  many  in 

R 


122  The  Penitent  Woman 

the  chriRian  world  would  conHne  it.  Re- 
ligion has  its  forms.  But  the  ipirit  of  di- 
vine love  puts  into  them  a  holy  energy  and 
life. 

II.  This  penitent  inRrufts  us  likev/ife  by 
her  deep  humility,  which  is  another  ailen- 
tiai  charatler  of  fincere  repentance. 

Her  copious  tears,  her  fine  but  diPnevel- 
led  hair  applied  to  the  humblefc  oihces,  be- 
fpoke  the  lowly  fentiments  of  her  mind. 
No  mortifications  appeared  to  be  too  great 
for  one  who  felt  herfelf  to  be,  what  the 
Pharifee  unkindly  called  her,  a  finiier. 
And  her  whole  condutl  demonfirates  that 
ihe  afcribed  to  her  blelfed  Lord  alone  her 
deliverance  from  the  (hameful  llavery  of 
her  fins,  and  that  flie  held  herfelf  bound  to 
him  by  eternal  obligations. 

Humility  is  a  difpofition  peculiarly  a- 
dapted  to  the  Rate  of  man  whether  we  con- 
fider  his  frailty,  his  dependent  condition, 
or  the  errors  andmileries  with  which  he  is 
furrounded..  His  days  on  earih  are  as  ajlia- 
dow,  and  he  is  crvjlied  before  the  moth. 
Sprung  from  the  dull,  and  born  in  forrow^ 


at  the  Fed  of  Jcfiis.  123 

he  is  haflening  through  a  vale  of  tears  to 
reunite  hinifeh''  to  the  earth  from  which  he 
was  taken.     There  is  litlle  reafon  for  pride 
in  a  worm  of  the  dull  xclio  exifvcd  hutyijler- 
day  ;  and  finuil  caufe  have  we  for  boaiimg 
or  confidence  in  tliat  fpark  of  reafon  that, 
ilruck  out  of  darknefs  but  a  moment  fmce 
by  the  liand  of  the  Almighty,  is  hardly  fuf- 
ficient  to  guide  our  path  through  this  world : 
but,  to  futurhy,  and  the  higheR  objects  of 
our   intereil:    and    duty,    is  v/holly  blind. 
The  moft  humiliating  confi derations  arife 
out  of  every  viev/  we  can  take  of  human 
nature.     When  we  compare  our  imperfec- 
tion with  thine  infinite  power,  intelligence, 
and  purity  eternal  God !  '•'  v/hat  is  man  that 
thou  art   mincjful  of  him  ?    or  the  fon  of 
man  that  thou  vihteil  him  !" 

But  the  humility  of  a  penitent  arifes 
chiefly  from  a  profound  and  aftettingview 
of  his  fms  againft  God.  The  talents  of  the 
mind  and  the  faculties  of  the  body,  which 
(hould  have  been  employed  only  in  the  fer- 
vice  of  the  Creator,  have  been  ofien  ufed  to 
his  diihonor.  The  heart,  v/hich  he  created 
only  for  himfelf,  has  been  devoted  to  inferior 
purfuils.    and   exhauiled  in    falacious  and 


124  '^'^^  Penitent  Woman 

criminal  enjoyments — The  bleRings  of  Iii^ 
providence  which  Diould  habitually  have 
recalled  him  to  mind  with  a  thankful  re- 
collection, have  too  often,  alas  !  ferved  on- 
ly to  nourilh  and  inflame  the  palTions.  But 
the  hi'^heil:  aff^ravation  of  fin,  wdiere  the 
name  of  Chrilt  is  known,  is  its  refiflanee  to 
the  perfuafions  of  the  holy  fpirit,  the  con- 
tempt it  pours  upon  the  love  of  the  Son  of 
God,  and  its  profanation  of  his  precious 
blood  filed  for  the  redemption  of  the  world. 
1  hefe  coniiderations  moii  deeply  penetrate 
the  mind  of  a  fmcere  penitent,  and  fill  it 
with  remorfe  and  fliame.  Condemned  by 
the  fcr.tence  of  the  divine  law^  he  is  not  lefs 
condemned  by  the  fentence  of  his  ow  n  heart, 
''  Wherefore,  faith  the  facied  writer,  fpeak- 
ing  in  the  name  of  all  penitents.  I  abhor 
myfelf,  and  repent  in  dull  and  aihes  !" 

One  of  the  principal  fruits,  and  one  of 
the  mOil  certain  proofs  of  true  humility  of 
mind,  is  an  unbounded  gratitude  to  the  Sa- 
viour and  unlimited  trult  in  his  merits.  In 
our  own  imperfeft  obedience,  as  there  is  no 
vindication  of  the  ricrhts  of  the  violated 
law,  there  can  be  no  iblid  ground  of  hope 
towards  God,    For  "  our  righteoujncjjes  are 


at  the  Fed  of  Jefus,  125 

as  filthy  rags,  and  our  iniquities  like  the  zvind 
have  iakeii  us  azvjy,'  No  argiursent  can  car- 
ry this  truth  wiih  fuch  periuaiion  to  the 
heart  that  it  is  "  not  by  works  of  righte- 
Gufnefs  which  we  have  done,  but  by  grace 
we  are  faved/'  as  cur  own  confcionm^rs  in 
thofe  moments  of  humiliation  and  repen- 
tance when  we  p  nceive  the  magnitude  and 
extent  of  our  ofiences  againft  God.  Even 
the  mercy  that  encourages  our  hope,  will, 
by  painting  in  deeper  colours  our  ingrati- 
tude and  guilt,  the  more  completely  de- 
ftroy  every  plea  of  felf-righteoufnefs. — 
Blelfed  Jefus  !  we  believe  that  *•'  there  is  no 
other  name  but  thme  under  heaven  given 
among  men  whereby  we  can  be  faved." 

III.  Conne6ied  with  the  humility  of  tlie 
penitent  in  our  text  is  her  edifyuig  fclf- 
denial. 

Retiring  from  all  the  fcenes  of  her  paft 
delights  Ihe  confecrates  the  powers  of  her 
heart,  and  the  labour^  of  her  hands  only  to 
her  Saviour.  She  efleems  it  not  fuHicient 
to  have  forfaken  her  vices ;  but  (lie  makes 
a  voluntary  facrifice  of  all  the  objefts  that 
might  tend  to  rekindle  her  pafiions.     Even 


125  The  Penitent  Woman 

tliofe  lawful  poiTelTions  or  enjoyments 
v/hich,  having  been  once  abufed,  had  be- 
con:ie  connecled  by  habit  or  by  memory  with 
her  fins,  fhe  renounces.  Her  perfon,  which 
fhe  had  fo  carefully  decorated  from  impro- 
per views,  is  now  ncgle6ied  in  its  ornaments 
— She  feems  willing  to  mortify  it  for  hav- 
ingbeen  once  too  pleafmg.  The  rich  per- 
fumes with  which  (he  had  tUidied  to  inchant 
the  fenfes,  fne  cafts  av/ay.  What  is  valua- 
ble in  them  flie  confecrates  to  Chrift — for 
the  reft,  (he  ufes  them  no  more  for  her  own 
pleafure.  Her  hair,  the  glory  of  her  head, 
which  (he  had  fo  often  drefled  for  allure- 
ment, now  carelefs  and  difiievclled,  as  if  to 
mark  her  repentance  for  its  firfl  abufe,  Ibe 
applies  to  th.  humblelt  office.  The  luibe 
of  her  eyes,  that  had  fo  often  fparkled  with 
impure  fires,  ihe  quenches  in  a  flood  of 
tears,"*  and  fhe  now  employs  them  only  in 
exprefiions  of  humility  and  grief. 

Admirable  example  !  The  fpirit  of  re- 
pentance will  lead  a  good  man  not  only  to 
renounce  his  paiFions,  but  to  ihun  the  mo- 
tives and  occafions  of  exciting  them — the 

*  Mafliilon— La  pcckerefTc  de  Terangile. 


4Lt  the  Feet  of  Jefus.  127 

places  which  have  been  formerly  the  fccnes 
of  them — the  aids  and  the  arts  which  they 
have  employed  to  compafs  their  gratifica- 
tion.    In  coni'equence.  of  the   natural  and 
powerful  principle  of  alfociation  in  the  hu- 
man mind,  he  is  prone  to  regard  with  ab- 
horrence, or  with  fear,  whatever  has  been 
connecled,  by  any  clofe  tie,  with  vice.    The 
concomitants   of  vice  he  facrifices    alons; 
wdth  the  vices  themfelves.     This  is  like  wife 
a  principle  of  prudence.     For  fuch  is  the 
frailty  of  the  heart   that  the  moil  fmcere 
convert  may  expofe  his  virtue  to  danger  by 
incautioully   frequenting  fcenes,   or  by  in- 
dulging an  unneceiTary  familiarity  with  ob- 
jects, that  have  formerly  been  to  him  the 
occaiions,  or  the  minifters  of  fin.     His  paf- 
fions   accuftomtd  to  kindle  at  the  fight  of 
them,  may,  by  the  influence  of  habit,  mfen- 
fibly  become  enflamed,  and  in  an  unguard- 
ed moment,  he  may  be  furprifed  into  a  fault. 
It  is  neceiTary  not  only  to  flee  from  the  fins 
that  are  in  the  world,  but  often  to  flee  from 
the  world  itfelf     Retirement,   felt-denial, 
moderation,  and  even   abftinence  in  plea- 
fiire  are   frequently   requifite  in  order  to 
preferve  our  virtue,  and  to  impofe  a  pro- 
per guard  upon  the  paihons. 


1^8  The  Penitent  Woman 

A  quellion  has  been  raifed,  to  what  de- 
gree may  amurements^,  recreations,  and  ge- 
nerally all  fenfible  pleafures,  be  lavvfully 
purfued  by  a  good  man  ?  And  when  do 
they  become  blameable  ?  It  is  difficult  to 
mark  out  any  limits  on  this  fubjeft  that  Ihall 
be  precife  and  accurate.  They,  are  not  the 
fame,  perhaps,  to  every  man — much  de- 
pends on  charahler,  on  habit,  on  the  pecu- 
liar irritability  of  the  paffions,  and  on  many 
circumftances  that  vary  with  the  individual, 
and  cannot  be  embraced  in  any  general 
rule.  Conhderations  of  this  nature,  while 
they  ought  to  render  a  man  candid  and  li- 
beral in  his  interpretation  of  the  condu6l  of 
others,  (hould  make  him  rigorous  in  judg- 
ing of  his  own.  \\  hatever  he  has  found, 
by  experience,  to  impair  the  firmnefs  of  his 
pious  refolutions,  or  to  difcompofe  the  fe- 
rene  and  lleady  habit  of  his  devout  affec- 
tions, to  him  becomes  criminal.  And  if  he 
has  difcovered  that  companies  of  a  certain 
kind  are  unfriendly  to  ferious  refle6lion — 
if  public  diverHons  and  amufements  have 
dillipated  the  heart,  and  rendered  it  lefs 
prepared  to  approach  to  God  in  the  exer- 
cifes  of  a  fpiritual  and  lively  devotion — if 
any  worldly  cares  have  occupied  too  large 


dt  the  Feet  of  Jefus.  129 

a  portion  of  his  time  to  the  exckifion  of  the 
higher  and  nobler  objects    of  religion — if 
attentions  to  the  perfon  have  had  too  much 
of  a  fenfual  aim — if  the  arts  of  corrupting 
have  been  iiudied  in  the  arts  of  pleahng, 
he  will  ftill  regard  with  a  holy  jealoufy  and 
caution   what  has   once  proved  to  him  a 
dangerous  fnare.     He  will  imitate  the  pru- 
dent and  generous  felf-denial  of  this  peni- 
tent woman  who  renounced  even  her  temp- 
tations.  It  is  m  vain  toaik,  is  not  company 
innocent  ?     Are  not  amufements   lawful  ? 
Is   not  a  certain  conformity  to  the  world 
juftihable  ?     Are  not  attentions   to  pleafe 
laudable  ?     I  agree — No   one  difputes  the 
principle  thus  generally  exprefied.     It  is  in 
the  particular  applications  of  it  that  the 
difficulties  arife.     And,  wdiatever  indulgen- 
ces might  be   admitted  in  a  general  theory 
of  morals — whatever,  in  pratlice,  might  be 
fafe  and  lawful  for  others,  the  queilion  re- 
curs, have  they  been  found  to  produce  an 
ill  influence  on  the  ilate  of  your  mind,  or 
the  habits  of  your   conduft  ?     Have  they 
occupied   that   time   which  ought  to  have 
been  employed  in  purfuits  more  ufeful  and 
more  worthy  of  your  nature  ?     Have  they 
tended  to  awaken  criminal  painons  in  your 

S 


130  The  Penitent  Woman 

own  bread  ?  Have  they  been  defigned  to 
excite  loofe  defires  in  others  ?  In  one  word, 
do  they  feera  to  have  interpofed  a  didance 
between  your  foul  and  God  ?  Have  they 
made  you  lefs  circumfpeft  in  your  conduft, 
and  lefs  vigilant  over  all  the  movements 
of  the  heart  ?  Have  they  rendered  you 
more  forgetful  of  your  dependent  ftate,  and 
of  your  eternal  deiliny  ?  In  proportion  as 
they  have  been  followed  by  thefe  eifeds 
they  have  become  linful.  And,  I  repeat  it, 
true  repentance  will  make  the  facrifice  of 
them.  The  fpirit  of  repentance  never  afks 
what  is  the  exatl  limit  between  virtue  and 
vice,  in  order  that  it  may  approach,  as  near 
as  poflible,  the  confines  of  forbidden  plea- 
fures.  It  ftudies  to  keep  far  within  that 
dangerous  boundary.  It  is  inclined  rather 
to  carry  abflinence  from  pleafure  to  a  holy 
excefs,  if  I  may  fpeak  fo,  than  to  permit 
one  doubtful  liberty.  Job  made  a  covenant 
zoith  his  eyes  in  order  to  guard  the  purity  of 
his  heart.  And  every  man  who  is  honell 
to  himfelf  will  perceive  fome^?z  which  more 
eojily  than  others  hejets  him,  and  with  regard 
to  v/hich  he  finds  himfelf  m.ore  frail.  Here 
all  his  guards  oudit  to  be  doubled — all  his 
vigilance   ought    to  exhauiled.     A  good 


at  the  Feet  of  jrfiis,  131 

man  will  fear  and  (hun  the  opportunities 
and  incitements  of  temptation,  as  Vvcil  as 
abhor  and  [lee  from  fm. 

IV.  This  penitent  inftrufts  us,  in  the  lafl 
place,  by  the  holy  zeal  v/ith  which  (he 
avows  her  change  of  life,  and  profeffes  her 
attachent  to  her  great  deliverer. 

She  had  wounded  the  interefts  of  piety 
and  virtue.  She  is  folicitous,  by  her  future 
conduft,  to  repair  the  effe61s  of  her  fatal 
mifcarriages.  Her  courfe  of  reformation 
(he  commences  by  a  profeffion  of  her  pious 
purpofe,  and  an  acknowledgment  of  her 
duty  as  public  as  had  been  her  offences. 
She  did  not  come  to  Jefus  by  night,  like 
the  ruler  of  the  Jev»^s  who,  through  a  falfe 
pride,  thougjit  to  conceal  from  the  obfer- 
vation  of  the  v/orld,  the  moil  honorable 
aft  ion  of  his  life — (he  did  not  go  to  meet 
him  in  the  diftant  villages,  or,  in  the  moun- 
tains to  which  he  often  retired  apart  to 
pray,  that  fhe  might  reveal  to  him,  in  pri- 
vate, the  fentiments  of  her  heart — Her  of- 
fences had  been  notorious — Jerufalem  knew 
that  (lie  was  a  finner- — And  m  that  city 

*  Mafllllon. 


1Q2  The  Penitent  V/oman 


o 


that  had  been  the  theatre  of  her  difiionor, 
Ihe  went  by  day,  in  the  fight  of  all  iiiio  the 
houfe  of  the  Pharifeejand,  in  the  prefcnce  of 
the  aflembly  that  was  there  convened,  (he 
confecrates  herfelf  to  the  fervice  of  Chrift. 
She  was  not  afliamed  of  the  caufe  of  virtue 
and  piety  which  {he  had  recently  embraced. 
She  was  afliamed  only  of  having  embraced 
it  fo  late. 

An  open  and  decided  profelTion  of  reli- 
gion is  an  homage  which  every  good  man 
ovv^es  to  the  caufe  of  truth.  The  weij^lit  of 
his  example,  whatever  it  may  be,  he  Ihould 
add  to  the  fcale  of  virtue.  A  fincere  peni- 
tent will  be  folicitous  to  make  an  early  re- 
paration to  the  injured  honour  of  his  Sa- 
viour as  confpicuous  as  his  faults  have  been. 
But  as  the  habits  of  the  w^orld  are,  in  many 
refpefts,  in  oppofition  to  the  fpirit  of  reli- 
gion, the  young  convert  is  apt  to  perceive 
a  degree  of  fhame  in  abandoning  its  party, 
which  is  fupported  by  numbers,  and  going 
over  to  the  thin  and  deferted  ranks  of  reli- 
gion. Yet  a  lively  fenfe  of  redeeming  love 
will  render  him  luperior  to  this  talfe  Ihaine. 
Afliamed  only  of  having  fo  long  purfued 


at  the  Feet  of  J  ejus.  12,^ 

the  paths  of  vice  and  folly,  he  ^vill  feel  the 
dignity  of  a  return  to  realon  and  virtue. 

Do  you  dread  and  (lirink  from  the  obfcr- 
vation  of  a  fcoHing  and  cenforious  world  ? 
Alas  !  in  the  courfe  of  your  vices  you  fear- 
ed it  not.  v.  hy  {hould  it  affect  you  only 
when  you  are  about  to  enter  on  the  noble 
refolutions  of  duty  ?  Do  you  dread  the  in- 
vidious contrafts  that  will  be  drawn  be- 
tween your  former  manners,  and  your  pre- 
fent  change  ?  True  it  is,  the  world  is  prone 
to  call  up  againft  thofe  who  enter  on  anew 
life  the  memory  of  their  errors.  It  is  wil- 
ling to  reproach  religion  w^ith  them,  or  to 
inhnuate  that  pious  zeal  is  merely  a  hypo- 
critical difguife  afiufned,  for  certain  puroof- 
es,  to  cover  a  heart  that,  in  fecret,  Itiil  re- 
mains equally  enflaved  to  vice.  Thus  the 
Pharifee  faid  of  this  amiable  penitentj//?^  is 
ajinner.  But,  his  fcorn  did  not  abafh  her, 
or  reilrain,  for  a  moment,  the  fervent  ex- 
preflions  of  her  duty  to  her  Saviour.  The 
fentiments  of  love  and  zeal  that  filled  her 
heart,  rendered  her  fuperior  to  the  infult. 
And  let  the  real  penitent  knov/  that  fmcer- 
ity  will  take  away  the  iting  of  every  re- 


10  A  The  Penitent  Woman 


o 


proach — perfeverance  in  the  path  of  duty 
v/ill  take  away  the  reproaches  themfelves. 

The  hidory  which  you  have  been  review^ 
ing  affords  the  moil  gracious  encourage- 
ment to  all  men,  whatever  may  have  been 
the  nature  or  degree  of  their  offences  againll 
God,  to  feek  his  mercy  by  repentance. — 
Often,  it  is  not  fumcient  for  the  guilty  that 
they  have  his  general  promife,  "  him  that 
Cometh  to  me  1  will  in  no  wife  caff  out." 
They  require  it  to  be  fupported  by  exam- 
ples, before  the  trembling  and  felf-reproach- 
ing  heart  can  reff  upon  it.  Here  is  the  ex- 
ample of  one  who  may  be  ranked  among 
the  chief  of  hnners,  who,  notwithftanding, 
was  received  by  the  Saviour  v/ith  infinite 
benignity.  Appealing  to  the  proofs  which 
(lie  had  given  of  the  reality  of  her  repen- 
tance, and  the  fincerity  of  her  love,  he  fays 
to  the  Pharifee  "  her  fms  which  were  many 
are  forgiven,  for  fhe  loved  much." 

Not  infrequently,  thofe  who  have  offend- 
ed highly,  when  they  come  to  be  convinced 
of  their  fins,  are  ready  to  defpair  of  the 
mercy  of  heaven.  The  fentiments  of  their 
own  unworthinefs  fo  profoundly   penetrate . 


at  the  Feet  of  J  ejus,  135 

them,  the  apprehenftons  of  the  juftice  and 
indignation  of  God  againft  fin  fo  alarm  and 
terrify  them,  that  they  have  not  compofure 
of  mind  fufficient  to  turn  a  calm  and  be- 
lieving view  on  the  merits  of  the  Redeem- 
er, and  the  all-prevailing  atonement  of  the 
crofs.  They  are  ready  to  conclude  that 
ihefummer  is poji,  the  harvcji  is  ended,  and 
they  are  vM/aved.  Ah  !  why  (hould  you 
unnecefTarily  afflift  your  fouls  ?  Behold,  in 
the  penitent  of  our  gofpel,  a  monument  of 
divine  grace  that  is  calculated  to  filence 
all  your  fears,  and  is  fufficient  to  introduce 
the  light  of  pious  hope  into  the  darkeft  and 
moll  troubled  bofom. 

Others  there  are  who,  though  they,  do 
not  doubt  of  the  mercy  and  the  promife  of 
God,  do,  notvrithftanding,  derive  the  mod 
difconfolate  profpefts  from  within  them- 
felves.  The  force  of  their  paffions  they 
perceive  to  be  fo  great  that  they  can  hardly 
Hatter  themfelves  whh  the  hope  of  beintr 
able  to  bend  them  under  the  yoke  of  reli- 
gion— their  fenfibiiities  to  pleafure  are  fo 
lively  and  impetuous  tliat  they  defpair  of 
extirpating  them,  or  m.aking  them  fubmit  to 
the  painful  felf-denials  of  the  gofpel.     It  re- 


1^5  The  Penitent  Woman 

quires,  indeed,  an  arduous  conflift  to  fubdue 
the  burning  impulfes  of  a  heart  too  fenfible 
to  pleafure,  and  to  divert  its  force  from  the 
grofs  and  turbulent  purfuits  of  fenfe  to  the 
pure  and  fpiritual  enjoyments  of  piety. — 
But,  if  it  is  arduous,  blefled  be  God !  it  is 
not  impofiible  to  the  energy  of  reafon,  to 
the  power  of  refledion,  to  the  facred  im- 
portunity of  prayer.  A  merciful  Saviour, 
alfo,  hath  not  left  the  iffue  of  the  conflift 
to  our  own  weaknefs ;  but  hath  gracioufly 
promifed  the  aids  of  his  holy  fpirit  to  thofe 
who  allv  him — "  Afk  and  ye  fhall  receive, 
feek  and  ye  fhall  find,  knock  and  it  (hail  be 
opened  unto  you."  And  you  fee  in  the  hif- 
tory  of  this  day,  a  penitent,  whofe  paffions 
were  unufualiy  ttrong,  made,  by  his  grace, 
to   feel  the  ali-fubduinGT  charms  of  virtue 

o         ... 

and  holinefs.  Thofe  fennbilities  which  had 
once  mifled  her,  nov/  form  the  mod  itriking^ 
and  interePansc  features  of  her  new  charac- 
ter.  Such  difpofitions,  when  regulated  by 
divine  grace,  are  commonly  dillinguiflied 
for  a  tender,  lively,  and  aficftionate  piety  ; 
and  are  capable,  perhaps,  of  forming  the 
mofl  amiable  and  per  feci  characters  in  re- 
ligion. To  them,  probably,  w^e  owe  thofe 
noble  drains,  thofe  impaffioned  odes  which 


at  ihe  Feet  of  J  ejus.  137 

ihe  royal  pralmift  of  Ifrael  employed  in 
the  worfhip  of  God  ;  thofe  facred  fervors, 
running  through  all  his  divine  compofi- 
tions,  that  continue  to  animate  the  devotion 
of  good  men  in  every  age.  Let  not  the 
Itrength  of  your  palTions,  then,  or  the  vi- 
vacity of  your  fenfibilities  to  pleafure, 
m.al^e  you  defpair  of  attaining  to  a  new- 
life,  or  even  of  reaching  the  fummits  of  vir- 
tue. Enter  fpeedily,  and  in  earneft  on  the 
arduous  labour.  Ahd  in  this,  as  in  every 
other  duty,  the  promifs  of  God  will  ftill 
remain  to  be  your  confolation,  and  your 
aid,  "  my  grace  is  fufhcient  for  you.'' 

AMExN  ! 
T 


[    138    ] 
DISCOURSE    VI. 


ON     INDUSTRY. 

DELIVERED     ON     THE     SUNDAY     PRECEDING     THE 
COMMENCEMENT,     I  797* 


Romans  xii.   ii. 
Not  Slothful  in  Biijinefs. 

THE  law  of  Chrill  not  only  readies  to 
the  principles  of  conduct  in  the  heart, 
but  extends  to  the  whole  detail  of  our  ac- 
tive duties.  Among  thefe  it  inculcates  in- 
duftry,  and  diligence  in  bufmefs,  not  only 
by  many  direcl  precepts,  but  by  the  allu- 
fions  and  images  which  it  employs  to  charac- 
terize the  chriftian  life.  It  reprefents  it  as 
an  arduous  conflift,  as  an  aflive  race,  as  a 
{late  of  inceffant  labour  and  vigilance. 

Some  weak  or  fuperftitious  minds  have 
imagined  that  all  this  ardor  is  to  be  employed 
only  in  devotion,  and  thofe  duties  that  ter- 


On  Induflry.  i^g 

minate  immediately  upon  God,  while  they 
fuppofe  it  hardly  refpecls  the  affairs  of  civil, 
of  focial,  or  domeftic  life.  On  the  other 
hand,  juPiice,  charity,  fobriety,  induftry  are 
effential  and  important  duties  of  the  chrif- 
tian  law.  In  the  order  of  life,  indeed,  they 
form  the  moil  numerous  clafs  of  our  du- 
ties, men  have  the  mod  conftant  uih  for 
themj  they  are  moft  dire8.1y  related  to  the 
general  intereft  and  felicity  of  the  world, 
which  is  the  great  end  of  the  divine  govern- 
ment. Adivity  and  diligence  in  the  affairs 
of  life  may,  it  is  true,  proceed  from  impro- 
per motives,  and  be  directed  to  improper 
ends.  Men  may  be  diligent  in  the  bufinefs 
of  the  world,  and  yet  be  deiiitute  of  the 
grace  of  God  :  but,  it  may  be  laid  down 
as  an  immutable  truth  in  religion  that  no 
one  can  be  a  good  man  who  is  not  induilri- 
ous  in  fome  uieful  calling. 

Induilry  is  the  virtue  of  which  I  purpofe 
to  treat  on  the  prefent  occafion ;  in  doing 
which  I  {hall  point  out  both  its  neceility, 
and  its  advantages. 

It  is  required  of  us  by  God — it  is  render- 
ed neceffary  by  our  relations  to  fociety — it 


140  Gn  Luliijlry. 

is  requifite  to  the  improvement  of  our  own 
nature — it  is  intimately  conneded  with 
other  virtues — and  it  is  indifpenfable  to  the 
bell  enjoyment  of  life.  Each  of  thefe  ideas 
I  (hall  explain  and  extend  a  little  before  I 
apply  the  fubjeft  to  the  chief  defign  of  our 
prefent  meeting. 

I.  In  the  firft  place,  it  is  required  of  us 
by  God.  This  appears  not  only  from  his 
holy  word,  but  from  the  whole  fabric  and 
order  of  the  univerfe,  and  from  the  organ- 
ization and  ftruciure  of  our  own  ni-ture, 
which  are  his  work.  "Wherever  he  mani- 
fefts  his  power,  all  things  are  full  of  move- 
ment and  energy.  The  mighty  grbs  that 
compofe  the  univerfal  fyllem  wheel  on  in  an 
inceffant  courfe,  and  preferve  unbroken  the 
order  of  day  and  night,  of  feed  time  and 
harved.  Every  atom  is  in  motion,  and  is 
perpetually  aifuming  new  forms  of  being. 
That  man  mJght  not  be  idle,  his  Creator 
hath  furni(hcd  him  Vv'ith  a  vail  aflemblage 
of  aflonifhing  powers,  fitted  for  an  immenfe 
variety  ofuleful  ends,  and  which  indeed 
can  be  preferved  in  a  found  flate  and  brought 
to  the  perfe6tion  for  which  they  v/erc 
evidently  intended^  only  by   em.ployment 


On  Indujiry.  141 

and  exercife.  When  we  fee  a  conflant  and 
b;"neficent  aclivity  every  where  eftabliflied 
by  God  in  the  confUtution  of  nature,  it  is 
an  indication  of  his  \sdll  too  clear  and  un- 
ambiguous to  be  mifunderftood  even  by  the 
mofl  carelefs  obfervcr.  Were  the  powers 
with  which  man  is  endued  given  by  him  in 
vain  ?  Shall  we  fuffer  them  to  ruft  in  our 
pofTeffion,  and  thereby  fruftrate  the  benevo- 
lent defigns  of  the  Creator  ?  The  opportu- 
nity and  the  means  of  doing  good  either  to 
ourfelves  or  others,  as  they  are  beftowed  by 
him,  and  are  the  indications  of  his  will, 
point  out  to  us  a  facred  law  of  duty.  As 
long  as  any  good  end  can  be  anfvvered  by  our 
aftivity,  and  that  is  as  long  as  we  exiit,  we 
are  under  inviolable  oblisfations  to  in- 
duflry. 

The  fame  fpirit  breathes  throughout  the 
word  of  God.  Diligence  in  fome  ufeful 
bufinefs  is  reprefentcd  as  eiTential  to  the 
characler  of  a  good  man.  The  apoftle,  in 
his  inf!;ru6tions  to  Timothy  hath  faid,  "  if 
any  provide  not  for  his  own,  and  efpecial- 
ly  for  thofe  of  his  o\v  n  houfe,  he  liath  de- 
nied the  faith  and  is  vvorfe  than  an  inhdel." 
In  defcribing  the  character  of  thofe  widows 


,m. 


142  On  Indiijlry, 

v/hom  he  permitted  to  be  received  upon  the 
charitable  liRs  of  the  chriftian  church,  he 
requires  that  they  be  "  well  reported  of  for 
good  works — that  they  have  brought  up 
children,  that  they  have  lodged  Grangers, 
that  they  have  relieved  the  afflicted,  and  that 
they  have  diligently  followed  every  good 
work."  To  quote  no  other  example  lif- 
ten  to  the  reproach  which  our  blefled  Lord 
makes  to  the  unhappy  man  who  had  not 
induiirioufly  improved  the  talent  with  which 
he  had  been  intrufted — "  Thou  wicked  and 
Jlotliful  fervant !"  And  let  us  tremble  at  the 
fentence  pronounced  upon  him,  "  cafL  ye 
the  unprofitable  fervant  into  utter  darknefs — 
there  fliall  be  wailing  and  gnalhing  of 
teeth."  From  hence  it  appears  that,  in  the 
iinal  judgment,  we  muil  render  an  account 
of  the  negleft  of  our  talents  as  Vv'cll  as  of 
their  mifimprovement — of  our  omiHions  of 
duty  as  w^eli  as  of  our  pofitive  tranfgrel- 
fions. 

When,  in  another  pafiage,  our  Saviour 
commands  his  difciples  "  not  to  labour  for 
the  meat  that  peridieth,  but  for  that  which 
endureth  to  everlalting  life" — can  he  mean, 
as  fome  have  imagined,  to  recommend  a 


0)1  Lidujiry.  143 

pious  idlenefsj  or  to  make  a  merit  of  mo- 
nadic poverty  ?  Can  he  intend  to  confine 
all  the  images  of  vigilance  and  labour  by 
which,  in  other  places,  the  chriilian  life  is 
reprefented,  wholly  to  the  fecret  and  inte- 
rior duties  of  religion  ? — It  is  impolTible — 
but  knowing  how  prone  mankind  are  to 
give  the  preierence  to  vifible  and  temporal 
things  above  thofe  that  are  invifible  and 
eternal,  he  intends  by  this  firong  expreflion 
to  call  down  the  world  from  its  ufurped 
fuperiority,  and  to  give  their  juft  afcenden- 
cy  in  our  efleem  and  purfuit  to  the  objefts 
of  an  immortal  exigence.  Amidll  all  our 
juftifiable  concerns  for  the  prefent  life,  the 
life  to  cojne  is  of  infinitely  higher  moment, 
and  demands  our  principal  care. 

II.  Induftry  is  a  duty  required,  in  the  next 
place,  by  our  relations  to  fociety. 

No  man  liveth  to  himfelf  alone.  We 
are  all  members  one  of  another,  and  are 
linked  together  by  innumerable  ties  of  mu- 
tual intereft  and  dependence.  The  joint  ef- 
forts of  all  are  neceffary  for  the  happinefs 
of  all.  Man,  as  an  infulaied  individual,  is 
capable  of  little  improvement,  and  even  of 


144  ^^  Indiijlry. 

little  enjoyment.  Arts  are  invented  and 
cultivated,  fociety  advances,  and  is  refined, 
and  the  public  prolperity  is  promoted  only 
by  united  labours.  Each  one  is  called  to 
contribute  his  portion  to  the  common  ilock. 
Every  man,  therefore,  v;ho  is  not  urefully 
employed,  may  be  confidered  as  robbing 
{o  much  from  the  fum  of  general  benefit 
andhappinefs  as  his  labours  ought  to  have 
added  to  it.  He  does  more.  His  exam- 
ple infefts  the  community.  /  nd  the  idle 
become  injurious,  not  only  by  their  own 
indolence,  but  by  their  pernicious  influence. 

Who  has  a  right  to  enjoy  the  advantages 
of  fociety  if  he  contribute  nothing  to  main- 
tain and  increafe  them  ?  Shall  the  wealthy 
claim  this  diilionorable  privilege,  as  if  being 
the  fpring  of  a6tion  in  others,  and  the  chan- 
nels through  which  the  rewards  of  labour 
flow  to  them,  they  might  remain  idle  ?  No, 
the  ties  of  reciprocal  dependence  pervade 
all  orders  of  the  community,  and  reach, 
like  a  mighty  chain,  from  the  highefl:  to  the 
lowTft.  Befides,  is  it  not  manifeftly  unjuPt 
that  thofe  v;ho  enjoy  the  bounties  of  pro- 
vidence in  the  greateft  profufion  fhould  em- 
ploy them  to  the  Icait  v/orthy  purpofes — ' 


On  Indvjlry,  145 

fliould  render  themfelves  the  lead  vrorthy 
of  men — fhould  iufFer  their  powers  to  ftag-^ 
nate  and  degenerate  for  want  of  a  necelia- 
Yj  and  ufeful  exercife — ihould  become,  by 
their  example,  the  corrupters  of  fociety  ? 
If  God  has  elevated  them  to  confpicuous 
flations,  and  put  into  their  hands  the  means 
of  doing  extenfive  good,  has  he  not  laid 
thern  under  proportionally  higher  obliga- 
tions than  other  men  to  cultivate  an  intrin- 
fiC  worth  of  chara6ler,  and  to  co-operate 
wdth  the  great  Father  of  the  univerie  in  pro- 
moting the  happinefs  of  mankind.  Can 
this  be  eiiefted  by  an  indolent  felf-enjoy- 
ment  that  takes  no  interell  in  the  affairs  of 
men  ?  Can  it,  by  a  luxurious  diiTipation  in 
which,  though  men  may  be  attive,  they  are 
worfe  than  idle,  and  a61ive  only  to  perni- 
cious ends  ? 

To  the  law  of  an  ufeful  induftry,  there- 
fore, the  rich  as  well  as  the  poor,  the  great 
as  well  as  the  humble  are,  by  their  relations 
to  fociety  and  to  God,  equally  and  indif- 
penlably  fubje6l. 

But,  independently  on  thefe  high  rela- 
tions, every  man  is  under  obligaiions  to  in- 

U 


146  On  Iiiduftry, 

duftry  from  his  holy  and  tender  connexions 
with  a  family.  If  he  has  been  thrown  by 
providence  among  the  inferior  claffes  of 
ibrtune,  is  it  not  among  the  lirft  duties 
both  of  nature  and  religion  to  make  provi- 
fion  for  thofe  of  his  own  houfehold,  v/ho 
depend  upon  his  care,  or  to  whom  he  has 
been  the  voluntary  occafion  of  exiilence  ? 
— Whatever  ilation  he  holds,  is  it  not  his 
duty  to  exhibit  before  them  a  worthy  exam- 
ple ?  With  aiiiduity  to  fuperintend  their 
education  on  w^hich  fo  much  depends  for 
their  happinefs  in  hfe  ?  And  to  throw  round 
them,  in  that  rank  which  they  polfefs,  all 
the  refpeclability  that  virtue,  talents,  and 
induRry  can  bellow^  upon  them  ?  Without 
great  vigilance  and  care  in  forming  the  fen- 
timents  and  habits  of  youth,  they  are  liable 
to  fmk  into  infignilicance,  or  to  fall  a  prey 
to  the  innumerable  minifters  of  vice  that 
furround  them.  Parents  are  refponfible  for 
then-  children  to  God,  and  the  public,  as 
well  as  to  their  own  hearts.  For  want  of 
that  energy  and  vigilance  which  a  jull  edu- 
cation requires,  how  many  of  the  poor  have 
plunged  into  a  low  and  brutal  prouigacy  ? 
how  many  families  of  high  fortune  have 
gradually  degenerated  in  the  qualities  both 


On  Indiijlry.  147 

of  their  bodies  and  their  minds,  till,  at  lall, 
the  vicHms  of  indolence  or  vice,  they  have 
become  utterly  cxtincl  ? 

III.  In  the  next  place,  induflry  in  ^omz 
urcful  purfuit  is  conne6ted  with  the  im- 
provement and  perfeftion  of  the  powers  of 
our  nature. 

Continual  exercife  and  employment  is 
necefiary  to  the  ftrength  and  vigor  both  of 
the  corporeal,  and  the  mental  qualities.  This 
is  a  law  of  nature  eftablilhed  by  that  infinite 
goodnefs  of  which  we  every  where  fee  the 
proofs,  and  vrhich  has  intended  to  promote 
the  perfe6tion  of  our  own  nature  by  means 
that  fliould  be,  at  the  fame  time,  ellentially 
conneftedwith  the  good  of  mankind.  That 
action  that  is  moll  beneficial  to  ourfelves  is 
that  which  is  alfo  moll  ufefui  to  others — 
Any  faculty  that  remains  unexerted  be- 
comes, in  time,  paralized  and  enfeebled,  and 
is  hardly  capable  of  being  applied  to  the 
ends  for  which  nature  intended  it.  Tlie 
ancients,  v/ho  undcrdood  fo  well  the  edu- 
cation of  youth,  prepared  their  citizens  to 
become  vigorous  defenders  of  their  country 
by  the  molt  athletic  excrciHzs :  and  in  their 


148  On  Ind'iiflry. 

fchools  they  endeavoured  to  cultivate  the 
reaibn  and  the  genius  by  fiudies  that  requir- 
ed an  intenfeand  continued  exertion  of  thofe 
pov/ers. — Induhrious  and  ufeful  employ- 
ment, Y/hen  mixed  with  proper  recreation 
favours  the  vigor  and  perfection  of  the  body, 
promotes  the  nriprovement  of  the  mind,  and 
imparts  ferenity  and  purity  to  the  affeftions. 
Idlenefs  degenerates  every  thing;  and  mere 
amufem-cnt,  where  it  occupies  a  large  por- 
tion of  our  time,  evaporates  the  greateft  and 
moll  refpeRable  qualities  of  human  nature. 

Befides,  idlenefs  is  not  only  an  enfeebling 
quality  but  forms  alio  a  contemptible  cha- 
racler.  A  man  who  is  not  employed  as  the 
author  of  nature  intended  he  Ihould  be — 
whofe  talents  are  ufelefs,  and  whofe  exam- 
ple is  pernicious — v/ho  merely  eats,  and 
drinks,  and  lleeps,  or  lounges  from  place  to 
place,  an  inaftive  burden  on  the  earth,  mull 
be  defpifed  by  the  reil  of  mankind ;  and  he 
will  feci,  if  he  has  any  fentiment  remaining, 
that  he  deferves  to  be  defpifed.  The  induf- 
trious  will  regard  him  with  fufpicion,  as  a 
nuifance  to  fociety,  and  as  likely  to  prove  at 
lafl  a  burden  upon  their  charity,  if  they  can 
be  fortunate  enough  to  efcape  his  frauds — 


On  liidufiry.  i^(^ 

The  ingenious  will  look  with  fcorn  on  that 
ignoble  difpofition  that  can  confent  to  bury 
the  heaven-born  fpark  ofreafon  under  a 
mafs  of  ina6live  corruption — that  has  no  am- 
bition to  excel — and  cannot  be  penetrated 
with  the  divine  beauties  of  truth  and  fcience 
— And  all  muft  hold  in  contempt  the  man 
who  does  nothing  worthy  the  rational,  fe- 
cial, and  human  nature. 

IV.  Induftry,  is  intimately  conneQed 
with  many  other  virtues. 

Order,  fobriety,  integrity,  and  temper- 
ance in  pleafure,  are  ufaally  aflbciated  with 
induftrious  merit.  When  a  m.an's  powers 
are  fully  occupied  on  ufeful  objefts  he  is, 
in  a  great  meafure,  exempted  from  the 
temptations  that  lead  to  vice.  Labour 
tends  to  cool  the  boiling  ardor  of  the  paf- 
fions,  and  to  introduce  among  them  tran- 
quility and  order.  Intenfe  application  to 
buhnefs,  exhaufis  that  irregular  and  impure 
lire  that  is  continually  drawing  afide  into 
vice  thofe  who  live  without  proper  employ- 
ment. 

Man  beincT  formed  for  a61ion  is  refllefsand 

o 

unhappy  v/ithout  it,   and  is   prone  to  feek 


150  Jjn  Indnftry. 

that  excitement  from  vicious  ideas  and  pur- 
fuits  which  he  ought  to  receive  only  from 
beneficial  plans  and  virtuous  engagements. 
His  imagination  is  apt  to  be  iilled  with  loole 
fcenes — criminal  deiires  rife  and  ferment  in 
his  heart — fenfual  appetites  are  the  only- 
principles  that  have  force  fuflicient  to  roufe 
and  occupy  him. — If  we  look  back  on  life, 
has  it  not  been  when  v*'e  were  moft  idle  that 
we  have  been  moil  expofed  to  temptation  ? 
Among  the  idle  do  we  not  ufually  find  the 
{laves  of  intemperance  and  debauchery? 
Among  the  idle  do  we  not  find  thofe  who 
facrifice  honor,  confcience,  and  time,  by  a 
bale  and  pernicious  gambling,  the  ordinary 
refource  of  people  without  ideas  and  with- 
out induftry.  Are  they  not  the  idle  to 
whom  time  feems  tedious,  and  Vv^ho  fly  to 
diilipation  to  fill  the  painful  void  created  by 
want  of  ufeful  occupation  ?  Do  we  not 
among  the  idle  commonly  find  thofe  v/ho, 
having  waRed  their  efiates,  or  fuffered  them, 
through  inattention,  to  fall  into  decay,  have 
been  tempted  to  employ  difhonefl:  and  crim- 
inal means  in  order  to  repair  them  ?  Are 
they  not  the  idle  alio  who  are  the  tatlcrs  and 
whilperers  of  fociety,  and  the  authors  of 
mifunderflanding  and   difcontent  between 


On  Indujlry.  151 

friends  and  neighbours.  Not  feeling  the 
excitement  to  attion  that  arifes  from  virtu- 
ous principles  and  induflrious  habits,  they 
abandon  themfelves  to  the  (limulus  of  a  lov/ 
and  prying  curiofity,  and  their  miferable 
employment  is  to  hear  and  retail  the  anec- 
dotes of  flander. 

But..  ^  m  no  caufe  are  the  idle  more  ex- 
pofed  Janger  than  from  companions  like 
themleives.  They  mutually  millead  and 
enfnare  one  another.  Their  evil  habits,  and 
their  fmful  paiTions  acquire  additional  force, 
by  being  feparated  from  the  good,  and  af- 
fociated  only  with  the  bad.  How  many  do 
we  daily  fee,  falling,  by  this  means,  the  vic- 
tims of  habitual  intemperance  ?  How  ma- 
ny, among  the  pooreit  clafles  of  fociety, 
giving  up  the  aftive  and  diligent  purfuit  of 
honeil;,  though  humble  occupations,  for  the 
contemptible  andruinous  habits  of  faunterinq; 
and  tipling,  leave  their  unhappy  families  to 
fiiifer  at  home  ?  How  many  who  ought  to 
live  by  their  daily  labour,  do  we  fee  turning 
m.alicious  tale  bearers  or  ridiculous  politi- 
cians, and  regulating,  in  their  pretended 
wifdom,  the  afiairs  of  the  Rate,  while  their 
own  trades  are  falling  into  decay  ?  Thefe 


1k2  Oil  In 


men  make  up  the  mob  of  fa6lion  in  every 
country — And  your  idle  politicians,  your 
iounging  patriots,  and  men  who  have  em- 
barrailed  their  circumftances  by  their  own 
folly  and  negleti,  are  always  hoiiile  to  good 
government,  as  if  the  iaw^s  were  their  ene- 
mies, and  are  ready  for  any  diforder  in  the 
republic  whenever  they  can  find  a  wicked 
and  a  daring  leader. 

Iloneil  induflry  exempts  men  from  the 
temptations  that  lead  to  moll:,  or  to  all  of 
the  crimes  v/hich  have  juft  been  m.entioned. 
Intereftjin  that  cafe,  concurs  with  inclination 
to  render  them  fober,  peaceful,  and  orderly 
citizens — The  fermentation  of  finful  paf- 
iions  is  checked  by  the  afciive  labours,  either 
of  the  body,  or  of  the  mind — Secure,  in  the 
exercife  of  their  own  talents,  of  a  compe- 
tence always  refpe61able  in  the  efteem  of 
the  wife,  and  poRerung  fufficient  to  fatisfy 
the  moderate  dehres  that  are  conneded 
with  induflry  and  labour,  they  feel  little  in- 
ducement, to  turn  afide  to  the  criminal,  pre- 
carious, and  dangerous  refources  of  knave- 
ry for  mending  their  fortune.  Along  with 
induflry  w^e  vfill  generally  hnd  fober  man- 
ners, tranquil  painonS;  modefl  defires,  up- 


On  Iiidujlry.  1^3 

right  defigns, benevolent  difpofitions^a  mind 
fuperior  to  fraud,  able  to  rely  upon  itfelf, 
folicitous  for  the  interefl  of  fociety,  and  in- 
flexibly attached  to  duty. 

V.  I  proceed,  in  the  laft  place,  to  fnew 
that  ufeful  employment  is  indifpenfable  to 
the  beil  enjoyment  of  life. 

Idlenefs,  though  often  fought  for  that 
purpofe,  is  an  enemy  to  true  pleafure. 
Enjo)  ment  requires  vigor,  aftivity,  and  a 
certain  fpring  upon  the  powers  of  nature 
that  cannot  exift  in  the  langour  and  laiTitudc 
of  inatiion.  The  moderate  and  conllant 
exercife  of  our  faculties  is  no  lefs  neceffarv 
in  order  to  tafte  the  fluisfaftions  they  are 
capable  of  yielding,  than  it  is  to  bring  thofe 
faculties  to  the  perfection  of  which  they 
are  fufceptible.  God  hath  gracioufly  and 
infeparably  connefted  the  happinefs  of  all 
feniible  and  rational  beings  with  the  progrefs 
and  improvement  of  their  nature. — Indui- 
try  is  abfolutely  requifite  to  true  enjoyment. 

After  labour,  how  fwect  to  an  induHrious 
man  is  that  refl  that  is  neceflary  to  refrelh 
him  for  his    work  ?     V/hat  a  reliih  does 

W 


154  On  Indujlry. 

ufcful  employment  give  to  thofe  innocent 
amufements  with  which  it  is  fometimes 
lawful  to  unbend  nature  after  the  fatigues  of 
duty?  What  an  exquifite  pleafure  do 
found  organs,  undepraved  appetites,  fimple 
tafles,  temperate  purfuits,  ferene  fpirits,  and 
all  the  ufeful  progeny  of  labour  add  to 
every  enjoyment  of  fenfe  ?  Do  the  chil- 
dren of  idlenefs  and  effeminacy  know  any 
fatisfaftions  comparable  to  thefe? — Their 
reft  is  lalfitude — their  amufement  diihpa- 
tion — tlieir  appetites  are  cloyed,  and  their 
tailes  blunted  by  pleafures  that  continually 
offer  themfelves  before  they  are  demanded 
by  nature.  Luxury  wears  out,  and  de- 
praves the  appetites  it  was  invented  to  gra- 
tify— and  indolence  rendering  them  debili- 
tated and  impaired,  they  can  enjoy  nothing 
but  in  confequence  of  a  thoufand  artificial 
provocatives  that  roufe  them  to  a  momen- 
tary but  difeafed  aQion. 

Are  not  thefe  refleftions  verified  by  ex- 
perience ?  Where  do  we  find  thofe  who 
are  moft  ferene — who  perceive  the  moil 
equal  and  cheerful  flow  of  fpirits — and 
who  appear,  upon  the  v/hole,  to  have  the 
beil  enjoyment  of  life  ?  Is  it  not  among  the 


On  Lidiijiry.  155 

induftrious  and  diligent  who  are  ail  ways  en- 
gaged in  f'ome  proper  and  beneficial  occu- 
pation ?  Where  do  we  find  the  greatelt 
liitlellnefs,  and  the  mod  frequent  chagrin, 
and  complaints  of  the  heavinefs  and  tedi- 
otifnefs  of  time  ?  Is  it  not  among  the  indo- 
lent ?  Hardly  are  they  capable  of  being 
roufed  into  any  enjoyment  of  themielves 
but  by  company,  gaming,  routs,  afiemblies. 
They  are  ready  to  die  with  a  diilrefling 
langor  till  the  feafon  of  their  diverfions  re- 
turns — And  day  after  day  they  repeat  the 
fame  frivolous  and  infipid  round  without 
tafte,  without  fentim.ent,  without  any  ufe- 
ful  engagement,  and  with  infinitely  lefs  fa- 
tisfaction  and  true  relifh  of  life  than  the 
humble  labourer  who  earns  his  daily  bread 
by  the  fweat  of  his  brow. 

If  we  turn  our  refleftions  to  the  purfuits 
of  literature  we  (hall  find  the  idle  and  the 
ignorant  equally  far  from  true  liappinefs. 
It  hath  pleafed  the  Creator  to  connect  the 
moil  pure  and  exquifite  fatisfaciions  with 
the  love  of  fcience,  and  the  attainment  oi: 
truth.  By  penetrating  and  unfolding  the 
fyilem  of  nature  we  feem  to  enlarge  our 
own  being,  and  to  approach  towards  the 


156  On  Iiidvjtry< 

fupreme  felicity  of  its  /uthor.  A  man 
who  cultivates  liberal  knowledge,  like  him 
who.  cultivates  piety  and  virtue,  can  feldom 
be  dependent  on  any  thing  without  himfeli 
for  his  happinefs.  He  carries  continually 
with  him  the  moft  precious  fources  of  it  in 
his  own  bread.  In  prolperity,  next  to  the 
liopes  of  religion,  it  is  his  richeft  treafure — 
by  it  he  is  enabled  to  alleviate  affliction — 
it  is  the  ornament  of  fogiety,  and  in  foli- 
tude  always  a  delightful  companion — it 
adorns  and  ennobles  youth — it  is  the  con- 
folation  of  agc^ — and  confers  on  venerable 
years  refpeftability  and  luilre. 

On  the  other  hand,  ignorance  is  as  void 
of  fatisfaftion  as  it  is  difgraceful  in  thofe 
who  have  had  the  opportunity  and  the 
means  of  improvement.  Idlenefs  in  youth 
unavoidably  lays  the  foundation  of  dilho- 
norable  manhood,  and  of  defpicable  age. 
Nothing  can  be  more  contemptible,  and 
often  nothing  more  pitiable,  than  a  vacant 
old  age  after  an  idle  and  mis-fpent  youth. 
Without  induftrious  habits,  and  w^ithout 
fentiment,  tafte,  or  knowledge,  it  is  a  mife- 
rable  void.  It  has  no  refource  within  itfelf 
to  fupport  the  folitude,  the  want  of  cuilo- 


Ofi  Indiijlry.  157 

mary  amufements,  and  the  negleft  it  muft 
inevitably  experience.  But  age,  refpe^la- 
ble  for  its  knowledge  and  example,  rich  in 
the  reputation  of  pail  ufefulnefs,  and  the 
honors  paid  it  by  the  young,  may  ftill  enjoy 
its  comforts,  and  at  length  fink  down  into 
the  grave  encompaffed  with  the  confoia- 
tions  created  for  it  by  the  virtues  and  in- 
duftry  of  early  years. 

If  induflry  is  fo  neceffary  to  a  good  life, 
and  if  fo  many  benefits  flow  from  it  both  to 
ourfelves,  and  to  fociety,  as  may  perhaps 
appear  from  the  preceding  illuftrations,  you 
will  acknowledge  that  the  duty  of  the  faith- 
ful and  ufefui  employment  of  tune  cannot 
be  too  frequently,  or  too  earneiUy  incul- 
cated upon  us  either  as  men,  as  citizens,  or 
as  chriiiians.  It  is  certainly  among  the 
bell  means  by  which  a  difciple  oi  Chriit  can 
adorn  the  profeifion  of  God  his  Saviour. 
Induftry  is  aifociated  with  all  the  ufeful 
virtues,  idlenefs  with  ail  the  difgraceful 
vices. 

I  do  not  mean,  how^ever  to  recommend 
conftant  and  unremitted  labour  of  body  or 
mind.      There  is  an  extreme  in  the  bell 


158  On  Lidujlry. 

things  that  ought  to  be  avoided.  Some  in- 
tervals we  require  for  relaxation  and  re- 
frefhment,  and  fome  may  be  prohtabiy  as 
well  as  agreeably  devoted  to  tlie  civilities, 
and  the  rational  plealhres  of  fociety.  But 
thefe  intervals  ought  to  be  regulated  by  the 
great  end  of  living,  and  to  be  made  iuDier- 
vient  to  the  higher  and  more  aciive  duties 
of  life,  by  httmg  us  to  return  to  them  with 
greater  alacrity,  and  by  improving  in  our 
hearts  the  humane  and  amiable  virtues  that 
connect  us  with  mankind. — No  portions  of 
our  time,  however,  ought  to  be  guarded,  by 
a  good  man,  with  greater  caution  than  thele 
againll  the  accefs  of  vice.  Into  thele,  if 
into  any  it  is  able  to  miinuate  its  poilon 
unperceived.  Hie  moments  of  relaxation 
and  pleafure  are,  commonly,  the  moments 
of  our  gieateh;  danger.  A  life  of  virtue 
and  piety — that  is  a  life  worthy  of  a  ration- 
al, focial,  and  immortal  being,  is  a  life  of 
vigilance,  of  labour,  of  conliant,  uleful,  and 
active  exertion. 

My  brethren,  I  beg  your  indulgence  in 
the  remaining  part  of  this  difcourfe,  while, 
according  to  an  old  and  laudable  cuitom  in 
this  inilitution,  I  addrefs  a  few  refledions 


On  ladujiry,  i^p 

and  exhortations  to  the  members  of  that 
clafs  who  are  Ihortly  about  to  be  admitted 
to  its  honors. 

Young  Gentlemen ! 

You  have  now  finifhed  the  ufual  courfe  of 
fludies  in  this  feminary ;  but  you  have  as 
yet  only*entered  on  the  threfhold  of  the  tem- 
ple of  fcience.  You  have  completed  fome 
years  of  laborious  and  honorable  applica- 
tion to  letters  ;  but  if  you  would  arrive  at 
eminence  in  your  refpeftive  deflinations 
in  future  life,  your  labours  are  only  jufl 
beginning.  It  would  be  the  effeft  of  unpar- 
donable vanity,  and  the  proof  of  mis-fpent 
time,  or  of  defeftive  talents  to  fuppofe  that 
your  acquifitions  hitherto  were  more  than 
the  moil  fimple  elements  of  fcience,  and 
humble  handmaids  to  future  improvements. 
Ignorance  alone  is  eafily  flitisfied  with  its 
own  attamments,  becaufe  it  fees  not  how 
much  is  to  be  known.  Real  knowledge,  by 
elevating  the  mind  to  higher  ground,  enlar- 
ges its  horifon,  enables  it  to  dilbern  innume- 
rable openings  into  the  diftant  and  bound- 
lefs  fields  of  nature  that  yet  remain  to  be 
explored,   and  therefore    humbles  it  with 


i6o  On  Indujlry. 

a  difcovery  of  the  fmall  progrefs  it  has 
already  made.  You  have  hitherto  o-ained 
little  if  you  have  not  acquired  habits  of  ap- 
plication, a  tafie  for  letters,  and  an  ardent 
third  for  improvement.  With  thefe  qua- 
lities, what  you  have  attained  will  prove  an 
ufeful  introdu6lion  to  the  great  circle  of 
fciences,  and  enable  you  to  direft  your  own 
future  progrefs  in  iludy.  Without  them 
you  may  loofe  even  what  you  have  gained. 
For,  in  the  fteep  and  arduous  road  of  fci- 
ence  there  is  no  point  of  reft.  Unlefs  we 
advance  we  necelfarily  go  backwards. 

Induftry  v/iil  be  effential  to  your  fuccefs 
if  you  would  rife  to  eminence  in  any  liberal 
profeffion,  or  ferve  your  country  with  dif- 
tinftion  in  any  refpe61able  department  of 
church  or  ftate.  One  or  another  of  thefe 
obj  efts  I  pre  fume  is  your  aim.  I  Vv'ill  not 
fuppofe  that  any  of  you,  after  the  opportu- 
nities you  have  had  to  elevate  and  enlarge 
your  views,  to  refine  your  fentiments,  and 
to  prepare  to  aft  an  honorable  part  on  the 
theatre  of  public  life,  can  prove  fo  unwor- 
thy and  degenerate  as  to  be  contented  to 
drap-  throueh  the  inferior  g-rades  of  focietv 
ufeiefs  and  undiftinguiilied,  and  to  yield  the 


On  Indiiftry.  161 

palm  of  excellence  and  merit  wholly  to 
others.  Shall  indolence  hereafter  dellroy 
the  hopes  of  your  parents,  the  expe6tations 
of  your  country,  your  own  honor,  and  that 
high  refpeft  which  the  elevated  and  virtu- 
ous mind  ought  to  have  for  itfelf  ?  Shall 
the  degrading  love  of  eafe  and  pleafure, 
like  a  blighting  mildew,  blalt  your  improve- 
ments in  the  bud  ?  and  prepare  for  you  a 
manhood  unfruitful  of  honor,  and  an  old 
age,  if  you  (liould  live  to  fee  old  age,  vacant 
of  rational  and  virtuous  enjoyment,  and 
flript  of  the  homage  due  to  ufeful  and  well 
fpent  years. 

You  now  (land  on  an  eminence  from  which 
you  fnould  look  forward  to  the  period  when 
you  (liall  be  ranked  among  the  future  legif- 
lators,  magiftrates,  or  interpreters  of  the 
religion,  or  the  laws  of  your  country.  When 
you  look  through  the  whole  compafs  of 
fcience,  by  a  general  acquaintance  with 
which  you  Ihould  prepare  yourfelves  for 
the  difcharge  of  oMices  fo  arduous  and 
important,  what  alfiduity  and  perfeverance 
will  even  your  preparation  for  public  life 
require  ? 


V 


i62  On  hidujlry. 

The  time  has  been  in  this  country  when 
a  fmattering  of  knowledge  aided  by  fome 
fprightlineis  of  natural  parts  would  frequent 
ly  fecure  to  a  man  in  the  liberal  profeihons 
both  diftinction  and  fortune.  That  time  is 
nearly  pad.  And,  by  reafon  of  the  more 
general  diifuhon  of  learning,  and  the  grow- 
ing multitude  of  rivals  in  every  art,  and 
competitors  for  every  office,  more  folid  ac- 
quirements, and  higher  qualifications  will 
every  da)'  become  more  necefiary  for  fuc- 
cefs. 

Befides,  a  mere  theologian,  or  a  mere 
lawyer  is  an  inferior  chara6ter,  and  not  of 
difficult  acquifition.  But  to  be  able  to  il- 
lufirate  the  facred  writings  by  all  the  aids 
of  philology,  of  antiquities,  of  criticifm,  of 
eloquence,  and  philofophy — to  be  the  in- 
terpreters of  juftice  by  a  familiar  recurrence 
to  the  pande6is  and  codes  of  the  mofl  en- 
lightened nations — to  draw  political  wifdom 
from  the  hifiory  of  ages,  from  an  extenfive 
knowleo;e  of  human  nature  and  human  foci- 
ety,  and  from  fo  many  fages  who  have 
written  profoundly  on  that  fcience,  this  is 
an  arduous  labour — this  is  a  charatter  ve- 
nerable by  its  powers,  its  virtues,  and  its 


0)1  Lulujlry.  163 

ufefulnefs ;  and  it  is  the  only  one  w'ortliy 
of  a  generous  ambition,  or  the  noble  defire 
of  doing  good. 

Every  view  you  can  take  of  the  profpecl 
that  lies  before  you,  impofes  upon  you  high 
and  indifpenhble  obligations  to  induilry  in 
thofe  great  purfuits  to  which  you  have  hi- 
therto been  only  opening  a  paffage.  Induf- 
try  is  the  law  of  your  nature — it  is  the  com- 
mand of  God — it  is  neceiTary  in  order  to 
cultivate  the  vafl  and  various  field  of  know- 
ledge that  fpreads  itfelf  out  before  your 
view.  You  are  invited  to  it  by  the  expec- 
tations of  your  country,  and  by  the  honors 
and  rewards  (he  has  to  beftow  on  ufeful  and 
confpicuous  merit — And  you  are  invited  ta 
it  by  the  certainty  you  may  have  of  fuccefs 
if  you  are  not  wanting  to  yourfelves.  For 
a  well  direfted  diligence  and  perfeverance 
will  eventually  infure  fuccefs  even  to  mode- 
rate talents.  And  without  thefe  qualities 
the  greatefl  talents  will  be  fruitlefs.  Indeed 
the  principal  differences  among  mankind  in 
point  of  knowlege  and  abilities,  common- 
ly depend  more  upon  induilry,  than  upon 
the  natural  diftinCtions  of  genius.  A  mif- 
taken  fentiraent  often  prevails  among  young 


104  ^^^  Indujlry. 

peiTons,  which  you  will  do  well  to  correal, 
that  great  induftry  is  the  mark  of  inferior 
talents,  and  that  idlenefs  and  diflipationare 
cliaratleriitics  of  native  genius.* — There  is 
indeed  one  kind  of  genius,  I  mean  that  which 
conhfts  chiefly  in  the  livelineis  of  the  ima- 
gination, that  has  not  infrequently  been  con* 
nested  with  diflipated  manners.  However 
genius  of  this  kind  may  fometiraes  ferve  to 
enliven  fociety,  or  to  amufe  our  hours  of 
leifure,  it  is  little  fitted  for  bufmefs  and  af- 
fairs, and  is  utterly  incompetent  to  phiiofo- 
phic  inveiligation.  But  that  genius  that 
confiils  in  profound  and  penetrating  judg- 
ment, that  is  capable  to  invent,  and  improve 
fcience,  and  is  really  ufeful  to  the  world,  is 
aimoft  always  united  with  a6livity  in  bufi- 
nefs,  and  perfevering  application  to  ffudy.f 
By  thefe  qualities  have  the  greatell  men  in 
every  age  been  highly  difiinguifhed.  Not 
to  mention  the  Boyles,  the  Newtons,  and 
the  Lockes  of  modern  times,  nor  the  Pla- 


*  It  is  falfe,  and  is  refuted  by  the  example  of  the  mofl 
elevated  charaders  in  our  own  country,  as  well  as  in  foreign 
nations. 

f  This  mufl;  necefTarily  be  the  cafe.  For  if  truth  and 
fcience  poifefs  charms,  mufl  not  the  underftanding  that  is 
capable  to  perceive  them  delight  continually  to  contem- 
plate them  ? 


On  Lidii/lry.  16 


J 


tos  and  Antonines  of  antiquity,  let  me  re- 
call to  your  mind  only  Marcus  Tuliius 
Cicero,  a  name  that  (lands  for  genius  itfelf, 
the  greateli  orator,  the  greateit  ilatefman, 
and  the  greateil  phiiofopher  that  Rome 
ever  produced.  A  celebrated  and  accurate 
writer  of  his  life  fays  "  his  induUry  was  in- 
credible, beyond  the  example,  or  even  con- 
ception of  our  days.  This  was  the  fecret 
by  which  he  performed  fuch  wonders,  and 
reconciled  perpetual  Itudy  with  perpetual 
affairs.  He  futfered  no  part  of  his  leifure 
to  be  idle,  or  the  leafl  interval  of  it  to  be 
ununprov^ed  ;  but  what  other  people  gave 
to  the  public  fhews,  to  pleafures,  to  feails, 
nay,  even  to  fleep  and  the  ordinary  refreih- 
raents  of  nature,  he  generally  gave  to  his 
books,  and  the  enlargement  of  his  know- 
ledge."'^ Here  is  an  example  on  which  you 
(hould  be  proud  to  form  yourfelves — an 
example  that  refutes  the  dull  maxims  of 
idlenefs  and  profligacy,  and  points  out  the 
real  road  to  greatnefs  and  honor. 

Along  with  induRry  and  a  laudable  emu- 
lation to  excell,  let  it  be  your  care  to  cuki- 

*  Dr.  Middleton's  life  of  Cicero. 


i65  On  Indujlry. 

vate  all  thofe  virtues  that  ufually  accom- 
pany diligence  and  ufeful  employment — 
order  in  your  ftudies  and  in  all  your  duties, 
by  which  you  may  avoid  an  unprofitable 
wafte  of  time — frugality  in  living,  and  eco- 
nomy in  expenditures,  qualities  which  alone 
are  worthy  either  of  religion  or  phiiofo- 
phy,  and  becoming  the  citizens  of  a  free 
republic — regularity  and  punftuality  in  bu- 
fmefs,  fo  neceiTary  for  the  convenience  and 
comfort  of  fociety — honefl^y  and  upright- 
nefs  in  your  conduft  towards  men,  which  is 
the  bafis  of  our  focial  connexions — piety 
towards  God,  which  is  the  foundation  of 
our  eternal  hopes — Let  me  add,  particular- 
ly, fobriety,  and  temperance  in  pleafure, 
w4:iich  youth  have  fo  many  temptations  ta 
tranfgrefs,  but  which  are  fo  necelfary  in  or- 
der to  preferve  and  invigorate  the  powers 
both  of  body  and  of  mind.  The  intem- 
perate indulgence  of  appetite  waftes  and 
enfeebles  nature,  it  empoverifhes  genius,  it 
weakens  the  fentiments  of  probity  and  ho- 
nor, it  is  ready  to  facrifice  the  moft  elevated 
profpefts  of  virtue  to  a  low  and  brutal  love 
of  fenfual  pleafure— and  hurries  a  man  al- 
moft  beyond  the  power  of  rehilance  to  the 
precipice  of  fname  and  ruin. — Cultivate  an 


On  Indi{Jlry,  i6j 

honorable   thirft    for    knowledge,  and  let 
your  ftudies  be  chiefly  of  the  feverer  kind, 
and  always  accurate  and  fyftcmatic.    I  mean 
by  Jyjiem,  remounting  to  firft  principles. — • 
Loofe  and  fuperficial  reading  tends  to  fof- 
ter  vanity   and  produces  little  fcience  that 
is  fubftantialj  or  can  be  applied  to  real  ufe. 
A  courfe  of  reading^  that  confifls  of  amufe- 
ment,  principally,  fuch  as  thofe  fi'Slitious  hif- 
tories  which  have  become  fo  fafhionable  to 
the  great   injury   of  more  folid  improve- 
ments, weakens   and  effeminates  the  mind, 
renders  the  tafte  fickly,  perverts  the  ideas  of 
real  life,  and  difqualifies  both  men  and  wo- 
men  for  fulfilling  with  dignity  and  pru- 
dence the  duties  that  belong  to   them  ei- 
ther in  their  civil  or  domeffic  relations.     To 
hope  to  become  fcholars  or  men  of  bufmefs 
by  fuch  light  occupations  of  the  fancy,  and 
luch  gentle  agitations  of  the  heart,  would 
be  like  an  attempt  to  make  Greek  or  Ro- 
man foldiers  by  liflening  to  the  foft  notes  of 
the  flute,  or  exercifmg  the  limbs  only  in  the 
fwiming  mazes  of  the  dance. — But  induftri- 
Gus  application   to   ufeful  fludies  tends  to 
cultivate  the  heart,  it  ennobles  our  being — 
it  will  prepare  for  you  the  public   confi- 
dence and  efleem,  and,  a  motive  that  will 


l68  On  Indujlry, 

be  much  more  fenfibly  felt  by  young  and 
ingenuous  minds,  it  will  fulfil  the  wiflies, 
and  complete  the  felicity  of  parents  who 
have  every  title  to  your  love,  and  whofe 
happinefs  next  to  your  duty  to  God,  (liouid 
be  your  firfl  pleafure,  and  your  firft  care. 

But,  while  I  am  urging  your  earneft  and 
alTiduous  application  to  purfuits  ufeful  and 
honorable  in  the  prefent  life,  let  me  not 
forget  that   one  thing  is,  above  all  others, 

needful. 

Diligence  to  make  your  calling  and  elec- 
tion  fure,  is  the  higheil  obligation  that  can 
be  laid  upon  you  as  immortal  beings.  If 
it  is  proper  to  urge,  as  I  have  done,  your 
folicitude  to  render  yourfelves  worthy  of 
that  honor  that  cometh  from  men,  how 
much  more  fhould  you  be  concerned  to  ob- 
tain  that  which  cometh  from  God  ?  If  you 
fhould  fo  labour  /or  the  meat  that  peri/Iieth, 
how  much  more  for  that  which  endureth  to 
ever  lofting  life  ? — Compare  the  fallible  tri- 
bunal of  public  opinion  before  which  you 
are  ftiortly  about  to  appear,  with  the  fu- 
preme  and  impartial  bar  of  God  at  which 
you  mupL  render  an  account  of  all  the  deeds 


On  Indiijlry,  i5q 

done  in  the  body — compare  the  tranfient 
breath  that  is  fleeting  from  your  noilrils, 
and  periihing  while  we  fpeak,  w^ith  that  im- 
mortal exigence  that  furvives  the  grave — 
Compare  the  fading  and  momentary  hon- 
ors of  the  world,  with  the  eternal  and  unde- 
caying  glories  of  the  heavenly  inheritance 
prepared  for  his  people  by  Chrift  Jefus,  and 
can  any  zeal  be  too  great  for  fuch  a  fubject? 
or  any  language  too  flrong  to  prefs  upon 
you  your  duty  and  your  inierell  ?  All  your 
labours  and  purfuits  in  life,  your  private 
Hudies,  and  your  public  offices  fliould  be 
made  fubfervient  to  the  chief  end  of  living 
to  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  falvaiion  of  the 
foul.  Every  duty  in  life  (hould  be  animat- 
ed, diretled  and  fan6lihed  by  the  fpirit  of 
religion.  In  the  great  caufe  of  piety  and 
xxxxxhyou  fliould  labour  v/ith  more  alhdui- 
ty  and  zeal  than  thofe  who  have  not  enjoy- 
ed equal  privileges  with  yourfclves.  Thofe 
privileges  have  created  for  you  a  more  cx- 
tenfive  fphere  in  w^hich  you  fliould  be  em- 
ployed in  doing  good.  .  nd  for  your  en- 
couragement iufler  me  to  remind  you  that 
God  IS  not  unrighieous  to  forget  our  u-crk  and 
labour  of  love.  In  the  immortal  kingdom 
of  the  Redeemer,  the  vijl  fliall  Jhhie  as  tlie 


770  On  Indvjlry, 

brigJiinefs  of  thejirmament,  and  they  that  turn 
many  to  righteoufyiejs,  as  the  ftars  forever  and 
ever.  All  the  labours  of  integrity,  of  chari- 
ty, of  virtue,  of  piety,  of  public  fpirit,  [hall 
be  crowned  with  glory  and  felicity  pro- 
portioned to  the  rich  and  extcnfrv'c  benefits 
that  flow  from  them  to  mankind. 

But  in  your  concern  to  fulfil  your  duty 
as  chrillians,  and  to  fecure  the  favour  of 
God  your  maker,  remember  that  religion 
iriud  enter  into  the  inmoft  receffes,  and  re- 
gulate the  deeped  fprings  of  the  heart.  It 
is  not  fufficient  that  the  external  conducl  be 
modified  and  formed  even  upon  the  mod 
decent  pattern  of  human  virtue.  The  ex- 
terior may  be  irreproachable  while  the  prin- 
ciples and  the  heart  are  impure. — If  you 
would  be  worthy  clifciples  of  your  Mader 
v/ho  is  in  Heaven,  you  mvjl  be  born  again, 
— enlightened  and  fanclilied  by  the  fpirit  of 
divine  truth — and  united  by  a  vital  faith 
to  the  Redeemer  wlio  is  the  advocate 
and  head  of  all  his  people.  Believe  it, 
and  lay  it  to  heart,  there  is  no  name  under 
Heaven  given  among  men  whereby  zee  can  be 
faved  but  the  name  of  J  ejus  Chnjl  alone,  A 
Irfe  of  finccre  piety  is  a  life  of  condant  vi- 


On  liidujliy. 


/"■ 


gilance  and  labour  in  order  to  fulfil  all  righ- 
tcoufnefs,  and  X.-0  pcrjet't  holinejs  in  tl\e  fear  of 
God. — Look  forvv^ard  then,  my  young  friends, 
to  the  fcene  that  is  before  you  both  for  time, 
and  for  eternity.  Enter  upon  it  with  firm 
and  ardent  refolutions  to  fulfil  its  great  and 
interelling  duties.  Let  no  labour  deter 
you — let  no  v/aichfulnefs  or  perfeverance 
fatigue  you.  But  a£l  up  to  the  high  clia- 
rafter  at  which  you  aim  of  the  fons  of  God, 
and  the  heirs  of  eternal  life. — Eftimate  the 
immenfe  worth  of  the  foul — contemplate 
the  inanite  importance  of  eternity — lav 
to  heart  the  hafty  flight  of  theie  rapid  mo- 
ments that  are  bearing  us  on  their  wings  to 
an  everlaRing  fiate.  In  a  fhort  time  all  the 
duties  of  life  Ihall  be  ended — all  the  honors 
of  the  world  fliall  have  paffed  away — all 
that  occuoies  vour  cares  and  affeQions  here, 
together  v/ith  yourfelves  ftiall  be  buried  in 
that  awful  and  oblivious  gulph  that  has  al- 
ready fwallowed  up  fo  many  generations  of 
the  filent  and  forgotten  dead.  Nothing 
will  remain  but  that  immortal  fubftance 
that  can  never  be  extinguiilied,  and  the  me- 
mory of  your  actions  that  fliall  follow  you 
to  the  tribunal  of  God,  and  to  your  eternal 
dePtiny. — Live     linder    the    iniprelTion    of 


^72  On  Indiifiry, 

truths  fo  folemn  and  afTefting ;  and  let  all 
the  powers  of  your  nature  be  engaged  in 
the  arduous  work  of  your  falvation. 

We  now  prefs  upon  the  moment  that  dif- 
folves  the  intereiling  relation  that  has  fo  long 
connecled  us.  Speaking  to  you  for  the  laih 
time  as  your  inftrudor,  it  is  my  beli,  and 
mofl;  earnefl:  advice,  and  if  they  were  the 
iafl  words  I  (hould  ever  pronounce,  I  could 
only  utter  them  with  the  greater  fervency, 
fear  God  and  keep  his  commandments,  J  or  this 
is  the  whole  of  man.  Soon  death  (liall  fore- 
ver flop  my  tongue  and  clofe  your  ears,  and 
then  Ihall  we  both  difcern,  in  infinitely 
ftrbnger  lights,  their  unfpeakable  impor- 
tance.— Go,  beloved  youth !  to  your  feve- 
ral  deftinations  in  life.  May  the  God  of 
your  fathers  proteft  and  guide  you  !  My 
wifhes,  my  prayers,  and  my  hopes  fliall  fol- 
low you.  In  hearing  of  your  future  virtues 
and  fuccefs,  I  fhall  partake  of  the  tender  and 
lively  joy  of  your  own  parents.  But  Oh  ! 
with  pleafures  unknown,  and  worthy  only 
of  eternity,  fliall  I  hear  from  the  lips  of  your 
final  judge  this  bleffed  and  merciful  decree 
ifhefiiall  pronounce  it  on  your  diligence 
and  fidelity  in  all  the  duties  of  life — "  well 


On  Lidi'Jlry.  173 

done,  good  and  faithful  fervanls  !  enter  ye 
into  the  joys  of  your  Lord!" 

To  that  bleffed  end,  AhTiighty  God  !  in 
thine  infinite  mercy,  bring  us  ail,  for  the 
fake  of  Jefus  Chrill  our  Lord ! 

AMEN ! 


L   174    ] 

DISCOURSE    VII. 

THE    lord's    supper    A    MEMORIAL 
OF     CHRIST. 


-!M!ESJ£u»«— 


I    CoR.    XI.    24. 

Do  this  in  rememhrance  of  me. 

^TATIONS  have  endeavoured  to  per- 
N  petuate  the  memory  of  great  events, 
cr  of  illuftrious  benefaftors,  and  individu- 
als to  renevi^  the  recoliedion  of  beloved 
friends,  or  of  interefling  fcenes  by  feftivals, 
by  monuments,  and  by  tender  memorials. 
In  conformity  with  culloms  fo  natural,  and 
that  have  been  eilablifhed  among  mankind 
from  the  beginning  of  time,  it  hath  pleafed 
God,  in  the  various  periods  of  his  church, 
to  record  fignal  events  of  his  providence, 
or  peculiar  difpenfations  of  his  grace  by 
limilar  monuments  and  inditutions.  His 
gracious  covenant  with  Abraham  was  per- 
petuated by  a  feal  imprcii'cd  upon   all   his 


The  Lord's  Supper,  &c,  175 

offspring.  And  the  deliverance  of  his  peo- 
ple from  the  bondage  of  Egypt  was  cele- 
brated by  a  feftival  that  revived  the  memo- 
ry of  this  illulirious  miracle  throughout 
every  age.  The  chriflian  church  hath, 
like  wife,  its  rites,  its  feafls,  and  its  feals. — 
Baptifm  hath  fucceeded  to  circumcifion  as 
avifible  fcal  of  the  covenant  of  grace,  and 
like  that,  confifts  of  an  emblem  of  the  pu- 
rity of  heart  that  becomes  the  difciples  of 
ChriPi.  The  Lord's  fupper,  which  we  are 
convened  to  celebrate,  contains  the  memo- 
rial of  a  much  higher  falvation  than  that  of 
Ifrael  from  Egyptian  thraldom.  It  is  a  fef- 
tival  that  exhibits  in  fignihcant  emblems, 
whatever  religion  contains  mod  facred  in 
its  own  nature,  and  moil  intereiting  to  man- 
kind. Our  bleffed  Lord,  the  night  on  which 
he  was  betrayed,  inflituted  his  holy  fupper 
to  be  a  perpetual  rite  in  his  church,  that, 
by  the  preience  of  fuch  lively  fymbols,  he 
might  recall  to  the  memory  of  his  faithful 
dilciples  his  love,  and  his  fufferings  for  them 
— *'  Do  this,  faid  he,  in  remembrance  of 
me. 

The  bread,   and  the  v/ine   employed  in 
this  lealt  are  exprefiive  images  of  the  great 


176  The  Lord's  Supper, 

obje6ls  it  is  defigned  to  reprefent.  As  the 
bread  corn  is  ground  beneath  the  weight  of 
the  millftone,  (o  wds  luwoundeAfor  our  traiif- 
grejjions,  and  bruijaijor  our  iniquities.  As 
the  wine  is  prefRd  irorn  the  broken  grape, 
fo  hath  he  been  call  into  the  wine-prefs  of 
divine  jullicc,  and  broken  for  our  fms. 

Ourbleffed  Lord,  on  that  night  that  pre- 
ceded the  confummation  of  his  great  facri- 
fice  on  the  crofs,  chofe  thefe  emblems,  and 
appointed  them  to  be  ufed  as  perpetual  me- 
morials'of  his  fufferings."^ — How  interefling 
w^as  that  fcene  1  How  tender  was  that  mo- 
ment, when  he  met  the  little,  and  aifeclion- 
atc  family  of  his  difciples  for  the  lail  time  ! 
Endeared  to  them  by  his  labours,  by  his 
dangers,  and  by  the  ineffable  fweetnefs  of 
his  manners — by  the  fublimeand  confolato- 
ry  do6bines  of  which  he  had  made  them 
the  dcpofitaries — by  his  diftinguiiliing  love 
in  feletrinpr  them  to  be  ever  near  his  perfon 
that  they  might  be  the  fubjeSs  of  his  divine 

*  The  bread  and  the  v.ine  in  tliis  ordinance  may  be  con- 
fidered  as  emblems,  likcwile,  of  tfie  ftrcngth,  nouriflimcnt, 
and  conibUition  to  be  derived  from  it  by  a  fincere  difciple^f 
Chrift.  But  thefe  views  of  them  arc  not  immediately  ccn- 
.nc<aed  vvidi  the  prefent  fubjcd. 


a  Memorial  of  Clirifi.  177 

communications,    and   the  heralds   of  his 
grace    to    mankind — himfelf   now  hunted 
down  by  that  world  which  he  came  to  fave 
— encompafled  by  malignant  enemies  third- 
ing  for  his  blood — furrounded  by  profpecls 
as   gloom.y  as  the  fliades    of  that  dreadful 
night,  under  the  cover  of  which  they  were 
convened — juft  preparing  for  a  cruel  death, 
and  about  to  be  feparated  from  his  difcon- 
folate  followers,  he  took  with  them  his  lad 
fupper. — Flere  every  idea  that  could  excite 
an  alfcclionate  remembrance  of  him,  would 
ruOi  upon  their  minds,  and  av/aken  in  them 
the  warmed  and    the    tendered  emotions 
tov^ards  their  divine  Mader  while  he  was 
celebrating  with  them  the   mydcry  of  his 
own  death.     And,  that  the  fcene  might  not 
be  effaced  from  their  hearts  by  the  power 
of  time,  which  impair^  every  imprcdion,  he 
gave  them  thefe  precious  memorials  that 
they  might  continually    repeat,  after  his 
deceafe,  a  tranfaRion  lb  full  of  holy  en- 
dearment and  tcndernefs. 

On  fuch  an  occafion  they  would  natu- 
r^ly  call  to  mind  \\\s  per fonal  qualities  which 
were  tlic  foundations  of  their  edeem — the 
innumerable  proofs  of  his  love  of  which  they 


178  The  Lord's  Supper 

had  been  both  the  witneffes  and  the  obje6l;s 
— and,  laftly,  the  facred  relations  that  con- 
nefted  him  with  them. — Such  are  the  ends 
intended  to  be  anfwered  by  tokens  given  to 
recall  the  memory  of  deceafed  or  abfent 
friends.  By  reviewing  each  of  thefe  topics 
we  may  illuftrate  the  import  of  this  ordi- 
nance confidered  as  a  memorial  of  Chrift. 

I.  In  the  firft  place,  it  ferves  to  call  to 
mind  his  glorious  charafter  and  perfections 
as  our  Redeemer.  For,  although  its  prin- 
cipal intention  is  to  be  a  memorial  of  his 
fitiferings,  yet  we  take  a  deeper  intereil  in 
the  pains  which  he  endured  when  we  re- 
member the  perfeftion  and  glory  of  his 
charader ;  and  our  fympathy,  on  fuch  an  oc- 
cahon,  naturally  inclines  us  to  recoiled  all 
thole  excellent  and  divine  qualities  the  re- 
membrance of  which  will  ferve  the  more 
deeply  to  touch  the  heart  with  his  unparal- 
led  alilidion. 

Let  us  then  furvey  this  aftonifiiing  vi61im 
in  his  liuman,  and  his  divine  nature — ideas 
which  comprife  the  whole  of  what  w^e  diail 
fay  on  this  fubject. 


a  Memorial  of  Chrijl.  1 79 

As  a  man  he  was  the  chief  among  len  t/ioii- 
fand  and  altogelher  lovely.  His  benevolence 
was  limited  by  no  bounds — he  xoent  about 
doing  good.  His  employment  and  delight 
were  to  relieve  the  poor,  to  comfort  the 
diilrefFed,  to  inRruft  the  ioiiorant,  to  fave 
the  periihing.  ^y  this  amiable  charafter 
was  he  peculiarly  endeared  to  his  difciples 
as  the  kindcft  of  mailers,  and  the  mod  aflec- 
tionate  of  friends — as  their  guide  in  every 
doubt,  their  fupport  in  every  trial,  the  object 
of  their  confidence,  and  the  lource  of  all  their 
confolations  and  their  hopes.  The  moil 
meek  of  men,  he  bore  tiie  contumely  and 
violence  of  the  Jews  with  that  equanimity 
and  I'weetnefs  of  temper  which  exhibited 
the  human  character  in  the  nioft  amiable 
and  intereilinsr  lis;ht.  Equally  confoicuous 
for  a  prudence  that  never  courted  danger, 
and  a  magnanimity  that  never  feared  it,  we 
find  him  ahv^ays  refigned  to  the  v/ill  of  God^ 
and  manifeiling,  in  the  fevereil:  trials,  the 
moit  unruitled  tranquility,  and  the  moil 
fublimie  patience. 

^  Thefe  chara51ers  of  our  bleifcd  Lord  are 
called  to  mind  in  this  ordinance,  not  only 
as  an  example   for  our  imitation,  but  as^ 


iSo  The  Lord's  Supper 

forming  the  moH  perfeft  and  interefling 
objeft  of  our  trylh  The  virtues  of  the  man 
being  more  within  the  compiehenfion  of 
the  mind  than  the  infinite  perfe6tions  of  the 
Deity,  which  often  ailonidi  and  confound  it, 
they  offer  a  more  deiinite  ground  of  confi- 
dence in  the  divine  promile  to  the  humble 
and  penitent  behever,  and  one  that  comes 
more  home  to  the  human  heart.  '*  Let  us 
therefore,  faith  the  apoftle,  come  boldly  to 
the  throne  of  grace,  that  we  may  obtain 
mercy,  and  find  grace  to  help  us  in  tim.e  of 
need  :  for,  we  have  not  an  high-prieil  who 
cannot  be  touched  with  a  feeling  of  our 
infirmities  ;  for  he  was,  in  all  points,  tempt- 
ed like  as  w^e  are,  yet  without  hn." 

Another  confi deration  of  the  higheft  mo- 
ment is  his  divine  nature.  "  In  him  dwelt 
all  the  fullnefs  of  the  God-head  bodily.'' 
This  fublime  view  of  the  perfon  and  ciiar- 
after  of  the  fuffering  Redeemer  (hould  ne- 
ver be  overlooked  by  his  difciples  in  con- 
templating the  fcenes  of  his  death.  It  is 
this  that  invefts  him  Vv'ith  the  higheft  glory, 
that  reprefents  in  the  moft  aftonifhing  light, 
the  condefcenfions  of  his  love^  and  our  in- 
iinite  obligations  to  his  p-"=icy,  that  renders 


a  Memorial  r,f  Chrift.  1 8 1 

him,  at  once,  tlic  objeft  oF  our  worfiiip  and 
our  trult, — and  it  is  this  tiiat  impreiTes  up- 
on all  that  he  has  fuiFcred  in  our  room  its 
propitiatory  and  faving  eHicacy.  It  is  the 
true,  and  the  only  foundation  of  our  hope, 
for  eternal  life.  In  this  holy  tranfa6tion, 
my  brethren,  you  contemplate  our  blefled 
Lord  both  as  God,  and  as  man.  Behold 
in  him,  therefore,  the  moil  perfect  of  the 
fons  of  men,  and  the  only  begotten  fan  of  God  ! 
Behold  in  him  the  moit  interefting  and 
lovely  of  human  virtues,  and  adore  the  di- 
vine "lullre  that  is  fhed  upon  tliem  by  the 
glories  of  the  Deity  that  dwelt  in  the  midih 
of  them  !  Behold  a  high  pneil  who  fympa- 
thizes  with  our  infirmities  by  partaking  of 
the  fame  nature !  Behold  a  God  who  has 
ail  pov/er  to  fave  ! 

II.  This  feftival  is  a  memorial,  in  the 
next  place,  of  the  love  of  the  Redeemer, 
and  of  its  «noft  affefting  exprelfions  to  the 
W'Orld.  His  whole  life  v/as  one  continued 
proof  and  illuftration  of  that  infinite  love 
which,  from  eternity,  had  conceived  and 
prepared  the  whole  fyllem  of  grace.  To 
reprefent  it  truly  would  require  the  Ian- 


i82  The  Lord's  Supper 

guage  of  heaven.     A  few  only  of  the  faint-* 
ell  outlines  I  can  attempt  to  trace. 

In  order  to  convey  even  a  feeble  image 
of  the  truth  we  fhould  be  able  to  compare 
the  glory  which  he  had  with  his  father  be- 
fore the  world  was,  vvkh  the  degraded  and 
fuffering  condition  to  vvhich  he  fubmitted 
for  our  fakes.  "  He,  w^ho  thought  it  no 
robbery  to  be  equal  with  God,  made  him- 
felf  of  no  reputation,  and,  being  found  in 
falhion  as  a  man,  he  humbled  himfelf  unta 
death,  even  the  death  of  the  crofs."*  Infi- 
nite condefcenhon  !  Adorable  grace !  None 
but  God  would  have  dared  to  conceive  the 
thoup"ht — nothino;  but  omnipotent  love 
could  have  executed  the  plans  of  celeftial 
mercy — the  eternal  fon  of  the  liighell  be- 
came an  infant  of  days !  The  objetl  of  the 
worOiip  of  Heaven  herded  in  a  llall  with 
bcalls  !  He  who  held  the  throne  of  the  uni- 
verfe  had  not  where  to  lay  his  '  ead  !  The 
king  of  angels  and  of  men  expired  like  a 
Have  !  And,  for  whom  were  all  thefe  afton- 
iflrinfj-  facrifices  ?  For  v/orms  of  the  duft, 
placed,  by  nature,  at  an  infinite  diilance 

*  FLU.  is.  6—2. 


a  Memorial  of  Ckrijl,  183 

from  the  throne  of  his  glory,  who  might 
have  been  blotted  out  of  the  univerfe  with- 
out notice  !  For  finners  who  had  turned  in- 
to rebellion  againft  their  maker  the  powers 
which  he  had  given  them.  "  God  com_ 
mendeth  his  love  to  us  in  that,  while  we 
were  yet  fmners,  Chrift  died  for  us."*  Oh  | 
"  the  heighth,  and  the  depth,  the  length, 
and  the  b-readth  of  the  love  of  Chrifl  that 
pafleth  knowledge !"+  Of  this  great  and  in- 
terefling  fubjcft,  a  hncere  penitent  will  en- 
tertain the  mod  aiTefting  views  who  is  pro- 
foundly penetrated  with  the  fentiment  of 
his  own  unworthinefs.  Humility  exalts  the 
redeemer's  grace — turn,  then,  your  medita- 
tions, in  the  fame  moment,  on  ycur  ov/n 
fins,  and  on  the  riches  of  redeeming  mercy. 
Let  the  waters  of  repentance  and  of  love  flow 
together.  United  they  form  the  moft  pre- 
cious llream — they  fill  the  foul  of  the  believ- 
ing communicant  with  the  mofl  tender  and 
fincerejoys. 

This  feilival  Vv^as  defigned  principally  to 
commem.orate  his  fuiTerings  in  that  lall  a£l 

*  Rom.  V.  8. 
t  Eph.  iii.  18. 


184  The  Lord's  Swbper 

of  his  love  upon  earth  when  ht  poured  cut 
his  foul  an  ojferwgforfin.  While  he  is  in- 
flituting  this  ordinance,  and,  with  his  belov- 
ed difciples,  celebrating  it  for  the  hrlt  time, 
he  preients  to  our  view  an  aiiefting  fpefta- 
cie.  Placed  at  the  head  of  his  own  table  as 
a  viftim  ready  to  be  offered  up — calling  his 
view  forward  to  that  dreadful  fcene  through 
which  he  v^as  about  to  pafs — ennbracino;  with 
ardent  afFeftion  his  afllifted  followers  v;hom 
he  v/as  juft  going  to  leave — and  extending, 
at  that  awful  moment,  his  cares  to  all  the 
future  periods  of  his  church,  he  delivered 
tliofe  fymbols  as  a  perpetual  memorial  of 
his  love,  and  [aid,  do  this  in  remembrance  of 
ms.  Elefled  Jefus  !  who  can  forget  thee  ? 
Remember  thee ! — Yes,  while  memory  re- 
tains her  pov/ers — while  the  heart  can  beat 
with  fenfibility  or  gratitude — or  we  have 
underilanding  left  to  dillinguiih  our  cliief 
good. 

Follow  him  with  a  believing  eye  through 
all  the  different  fcenes  of  his  affliftion — fee 
him  in  the  bigotted  and  difdainful  hall  of 
the  high-prieil  loaded  with  contumely  ! 
See  him  at  the  unrighteous  tribunal  of  Pi- 
late expoied  to  the  iboffs  and  indignities  of 


a  Manorial  of  Chrijl,  1 85 

a  furious  populace,  and,  at  laft,  delivered  to 
the  barbarity  of  a  cruel  executioner  ! — See 
him  labouring  up  the  hill  of  Calvary,  and 
fainting  under  the  weight  of  that  crofs  on 
which  he  was  juft  about  to  be  extended  ! 
— See  his  death  aggravated  by  inhumanity 
and  torture,  and  by  all  the  Ihame  that  at- 
tends the  laft  moments  of  the  moft  abandon- 
ed malefaftor!  Admire  that  wonderful 
and  divine  patience  which,  throughout  the 
vrhole  feries  of  thefe  a^vful  tranfaftions,  he 
manifefted  under  the  hands  of  his  betrayers 
and  murderers,  at  the  fame  time  that  hii 
power  could  have  crufiied  them  to  pieces. 
When  he  was  reviled,  he  reviled  not  again — As 
a  lamb  he  zoas  led  to  the  /laughter,  and  as  a 
Jliccp  before  her  fiearers  is  dumb  Jo  he  opened 
not  his  mouth. 

Then  was  it  their  hour,  and  the  power  of 
darknef.  His  beloved  diiciples,  difmayed 
bv  the  terrors  of  his  fate,  fonook  him  and 
fled.  Infulied  and  beaten,  derided  and 
fcoifed,  his  head  v/as  torn  by  thorns  that 
crowned  him  in  cruel  mockery,  and  his  bo- 
dy by  the  diicfulfcourge  th^it  lacerated  all 
his  flcfli.  When  indignity  was  exliaufted 
on  his  facred  perfon,  they  drag  him  like  a 
A  a 


iG6  The  Lord's  Supper 

felon  to  the  accurfed  tree.  Transfixed  wkli 
nails,  and  pierced  with  the  impious  and 
vengeful  fpear,  he  hung  an  agonizing  vic- 
tim on  that  dreadful  altar.  Liflen  to  the 
fpirit  of  prophecy  that  in  vifion  defcribes 
his  fufferings — "  I  am  poured  out  like  wa- 
ter, and  ail  my  bones  are  out  of  joint :  my 
heart  is  like  wax  ;  it  is  melted  in  the  midft 
of  my  bowels."*  "  Many  were  ailoniftied 
at  thee.  His  viffage  was  fo  marred  more 
than  any  man,  and  his  form  more  than  the 
fons  of  men."+  "  Surely  he  hath  borne 
our  griefs,  and  carried  our  forrov/s  ;  yet' 
fo  dreadful  and  uncommon  was  his  fate, 
that  we  could  not  regard  it  as  the  effe6l 
merely  of  the  injufiice  and  cruelty  of  maji, 
*'  we  did  efteem  him  llricken,  fmitten  of 
God,  and  alliiaed."+ 

Wliat  w^as  vifible  in  his  fufferings  was 
infinitely  the  fmallefc  part.  The  anguifh  of 
dying  in  him  arofe,  not  from  mangled 
limbs  and  tortured  nerves,  but  from  the 
fenfe  of  the  holy  indignation  of  God  againft 
fm.    Although  fm  was  only  imputed  to  him, 

*  Pfalm  xxii.   14. 
•\   Ifaiab  lii.    14. 
j  lihiah  liii.  5. 


a  Manorial  of  Chijl.  i-8y 

tlie  puniOimcnt  was  real ;  for  "  the  Lord 
laid  on  Iiim  the  iniquity  of  u.s   all."*     He 
felt  not,  indeed,   thofe  remorfeful  horrors 
that  agitate  and  convulfe  the  confcience  of 
perifhing  guilt;  but  the  fires  of  divine  juf- 
tice,  entering  into  his  holy  foul  like  a  facri- 
ficing  flame,  confumed  it  as  a  xidhole  burnt 
offering  for  our  tranfgrelhons.     The  fury  of 
his  infulting  enemies,  the  cruelty  and  inge- 
nuity of  torture  he  could  have  borne  with 
fcrcne  and  unfiiaken  conftancy.     But  aban- 
doned, at  the  period  of  his  greateil  diltrefs, 
by  the  confolations  of  his  Father's  love,  and 
made  to  drink  the  fearful  cup  of  our  ini- 
quities, he  was  overwhelmed,  he  was  utter- 
ly exhaufled,  and  feeming,  for  one  terrible 
inftant,  to  be  finking  in  defpair,   he  cried 
out  "  My  God  1  My  God !  why  hafl:  diou 
forfaken  me  !"f     This  dreadful  cry  was  the 
confummation  of  his  fufferings — the  facri- 
fice  was  now  offered— juft ice  had  exafted 
its  claims — the   purchafe  of  our  falvation 
was  completed — he  "  bowed  his  head"  and 
faid  "  it  is  finifhed."J     Aftonifliing,  and  al- 
niofl  incredible  efforts  of  divine  love  !     In. 


*  Ifaiah  IIH.  6. 

f  Matthew  xxvii.  46. 

:|:  John  xix.  20.. 


1-88  The  Lord's  Supper 

the  moment  in  which  he  was  about  to  en- 
gage in   its  tremendous    conilicls  he  inlli- 
tutcdthis  holy  fcflival  to  call  to  the  recol- 
le6lion  of  his  faithful  difciples,  to  the  moft 
diftant  ages, his  fuiTerings,  his  facrifices,  and 
the  zeal   for  their  falvation  that  confumed 
him.     Believers  !  can  you  review  this  fcene, 
at  once  fo  awful,  and  fo  tender,  without  a 
thoufand  folemn  and  interePdng  rect)llec- 
tions  ?     Do  you  not  feel  your  bofoms  agi- 
tated with   all  the  holy  tumults   of  piety 
while  you  call  to  remembrance  the  affiic- 
tion  of  thefe  laft  moments — the  tender  com- 
panion with  which  he  looked  upon  his  lit- 
tle  and  aifeftionate   family  whom  he  was 
about  to  leave — the  fearful  array  of  death 
v/ith  which  he  was  encompailed — tlie  ago- 
nies  of  the  crofs — and,  what  the  Son  of 
God  alone  could  endure,  the  fufpeniion  of 
his  Father's  prefence,  and  the  pofitive  fires 
of  his  wrath  againflfm,  which  drank  up  the 
foul  of  this  divine  victim !     Do  this  in  re- 
membrance of  me  ! 

Thefe  memorials  of  our  bleffed  Lord 
ferve  to  call  to  our  remembrance  not  only 
his  dorious  character  as  the  Meffiah,  the  Sa- 


a  Memorial  of  C/iriJI,  189 

viour  of  the  vrorld — and  the  incuimable  tef- 
timonies  of  his  love  to  mankind — but 

III.  In  the  third  place,  the  important  re- 
lations which  he  fuilains  to  us,  and  the  ho- 
ly ties  that  confequently  corme6t  us  with 
him. 

If  would  be  impoITible,  in  the  Ciort  time 
that  remains  to  us,  even  (lightly  to  notice  all 
the  relations  of  Chrifl:  to  his  people  which 
this  ordinance  may  ferve  either  direftly,  or 
remotely  to  bring  to  view.  I  ihali  dwell 
for  a  moment  only  on  two — that  of  our 
teacher,  and  that  of  our  Saviour.  He  was 
juft  clofing  a  fublime  minillry  by  which  he 
had  ellabliflied  a  new  difpenfation  of  grace, 
and  a  more  perfe£l  law  of  holinefs  among 
men — and  he  was  now  about  to  offer  that 
glorious  facrifice  that  confummated  the  fal~ 
vation  of  the  world. 

To  form  a  iuft  eftimate  of  the  hioh  rela- 
tion  of  Chrift  to  his  church  as  its  teacher, 
the  divine  fountain  of  light  and  truth,  we 
(hould  confider  the  profound  darknefs  that 
covered  the  earth  before  his  appearance. — 
Yvhat  groveling  and  fantaftical  idolatry — 


igo  The  Lord's  Supper 

what  fcnfelefs  fupcrflition — what  ignorance 
of  the  true  God,  and  of  all  the  duties  whick 
man  owes  to  his  creator — what  fenfuality, 
what  proRitutions  difgraced  even  their  reli- 
gious worfliip — what  multiplied  crimes  pol- 
luted the  nations  !  The  traditions  of  the 
primitive  religion  had  been  loft  in  the  errors 
of  a?es — the  Yig-his  of  nature  were  extin- 
guilued  in  the  general  corrupiion  of  ihan- 
hind — the  hope  of  a  future  exiftence  was 
\:cl\  nicrh  obliterated  from  thehuma-n  mind 

o 

— the  philofophers  rejcfted  it  as  a  pious  vi- 
fion,  and,  in  the  popular  religion,  the  doc- 
trine was  fo  difguifed  by  fi8ion  that  it  wore 
the  appearance  of  idle  legend  and  romance. 
The  difciples,  who  had  pafied  the  early  part 
of  their  hie  during  that  dark  period  before 
the   fun   of  righteoufncfs   aroie   upon    the 
world,  muft  have  liftened  with  uncommon 
admiration  and  delight  to  a  teacher  fait  Jrom 
God,  who  brought  Uje  and  immortality  to  light, 
and  taught  them  a  fyftem  of  duty  unknown 
to  the  rcll  of  the  world,  and  at  once  fo  ra- 
tional, and  fo  fublime.     The  moft  fervent 
fentiments  of  duty  muft  have  attached  them 
to  this  great  mailer  in  Ifrael  who  difpelled 
the  fliades  of  error  and  icjnorance  tb.at  had 
covered  them,  and  fhed  the  celeftial  light  of 


a  Memorial  of  Chrijt.  i  (^  i 

truth  into  their  hearts.  When  they  faw  this 
heavenly  fun  about  to  fet,  and,  in  their  ap- 
prehenfionSj  going  to  be  quenched  in  per- 
petual night,  a  profound  grief  fettled  upon 
their  minds.  From  fuch  a  teacher,  and 
fuch  a  friend  they  could  not  part  without 
the  deepeft,  and  the  tendered  regrets.  And 
whenever  they  renewed  the  memorials  of 
fo  dear  a  mafler,  they  would  recall,  with 
gratitude,  and  delight,  the  charms  of  his  di- 
vine leflons  to  which  they  had  fo  often  lif- 
tened  with  admiration. 

But  further,  in  edimating  this  relation  of 
Chrifl  as  our  teacher,  let  us  conhder  not  on- 
ly the  errors  of  paganifm  which  he  chafed 
from  the  world,  but  the  effential  weaknefs 
and  blindnefs  of  the  human  mind  with  re- 
gard to  thofe  doftrines,  infinitely  more  im- 
portant and  interefting  than  all  others  to 
mankind,  that  contain  the  knowledge  of 
God,  of  a  Sa^'iour,  of  an  immortal  exillence, 
and  of  the  eternal  deflinies  of  the  riohteous, 
and  the  wicked.  On  thcfe  fubjefts  feeble 
and  blind  indeed  is  the  reafon  of  man  when 
not  enlic^htened  from  above.  All  his  wif- 
dom  is  folly  ;  and  he  can  only  lofe  himfelf 
in  wild  conjecture,  and  anxious  uncertain- 


192  The  Lord's  Supper 

ty.  How  gloomy  and  difconfolate  would, 
life  be  if  we  had  no  certain  knowledge,  de- 
rived from  the  father  of  lights,  of  our  origin, 
our  duties,  and  our  deftination  !  Jefus,  by 
opening  Heaven  to  our  view,  and  pointing 
out  the  way  of  falvation,  hath  flied  on  our 
condition  in  this  world  its  richell  confola- 
tions.  Ifwe  are  truly  fenfible  of  the  natu- 
ral infirmity  of  the  human  mind,  and  the 
manifold  errors  to  which  it  is  prone,  we  will 
recognize  with  joy  the  dciyjpring  Jrom  on 
high  that  hath  uffited  us,  to  give  light  to  them 
that  fit  in  darknefs  and  thejhadoio  of  death,  to 
guide  our  feet  into  the  roay  of  peace. '^  In 
commemorating,  therefore,  this  lafl  aft  of 
the  miniftry  of  Chrift  upon  earth,  we  will 
thankfully  remember  him  who  hath  reveal- 
ed to  us  the  only  living  and  true  God,  un- 
known to  the  Gentile  nations — who  hath 
enlip-htened  before  us  the  valley  of  the  (ha- 
dow  of  death,  that  land  of  darknefs  and  of 
horrors  to  the  guilty,  and  hath  brought  in- 
timately home  to  the  bofoms  of  his  people 
the  alTured  hopes  of  everlalling  life.  Oh  1 
bleffed  teacher  !  hov/  liitle  does  the  arro- 
gance of  human  reafon,  or  the  thoughtleff- 

*  Luke  i.  78,  79. 


d  Memorial  ofChrift,  ic\^ 

ne^>  of  human  folly  underftand  the  infinite 
oblio-ations  which  we  owe  to  thee!  O  iieht 
of  the  world!  thine  into  our  hearts!  opea 
them  to  receive  the  precious,  the  confol- 
ing  rays  of  divine  truth !  We  remember, 
we  adore  thee  who,  feeming  to  be  extin- 
gui  hed  forever  in  the  darknefs  of  thy  laft 
hour,  didll  only  veil  thy  glory  for  a  mo- 
ment in  order  to  lift  it  again  upon  the  vrorld 
with  greater  fpiendor ! 

This  ordinance  ferves,  in  the  laft  place, 
to  call  to  the  remembrance  of  the  fmcere 
communicant  the  molt  precious  relation 
which  he  fullains  to  us  of  our  Saviour.  For 
this  end  come  he  into  the  woi-ld,  and  for 
this  end  did  he  fubmit  to  fuffer,  that  lie 
might  fave  his  people  from  their  Jins.  He  is 
cur  Mediator,  our  Advocate  with  the  Fa- 
ther, and  the  atonement  for  our  tranfgref- 
fions.  He  holds  in  his  hands  the  gifts  of 
the  holy-fpirit,  and  the  rewards  of  eternal 
life.  How  precious  to  a  fcLil  confcious  of 
her  impurity,  and  lamenting  her  di'tance 
from  God,  is  a  divine  intercciror  to  lead 
her  to  his  eternal  throne,  and  to  cover  her 
imp;"rfections  before  the  prefence  of  his 
hohnefj !     With  v/hat   traiifports  of  g^rati- 

B  b 


ig4  The  Lord's  Supper 

tilde  will  (he   look  up  from  the  brink  of 
d^fpair,  to  which  fhe  had  been  urged  by 
her  en -Ties,  to  her  bleffed  Redeemer  who 
has  all  D^wer  in    Heaven  and  on  earth  to 
fave,  anrl  whofe  almighty  merits  have  open- 
ed to  her  the  spates  of  everlafting  peace  ! — 
In  thefe  inter^fting  relations   does  Jefus  ap- 
p'^ar  at  the  head  ot  his  own  table  celebrat- 
ing the  myftery  of  his  own  death.    Believers ! 
in   thefe  emblems   behold   your  Saviour ! 
The    united  views   of  repentance    and   of 
faith,  of  contrition  and  of  hope  will  give 
an  unfpeakable  value  to  the  mem.orials  of 
our  redemption.     To  Chrifl:  you  owe  all. 
In  vain  are  altars  and  victims,  thoufands  of 
rams,  and  ten  thoufands  of  rivers  of  oil  to  pur- 
chafe  heaven — in  vain  the  tears  and  anguifh  of 
the  perifhing  finner  to  obtain  forgivenefs — 
in  vain  are  all   the  works  of   righteoufiefs 
xohich  we  ha,ve  done  to  juftify  us  before  God. 
— His  death  is  the  perfect,  the  meritorious, 
the  only  facrifice  for  (in,  and  the  only  title 
to  falvarion.      How  dear  to  you,  then,  will 
be  thefe  fymbols  and   pledges  of  redeeming 
mercy  that  recall  to  your  memory,  by  the 
livelieft  figures,  a  relation  fo  precious  and 
importact. 


d  Memorial  of  Chriji,  195 

Come  then,  my  beloved  brethren,  clifci- 
pies  of  fo  dear,  and  fo  glorious  a  mafter, 
obey  his  lait  command,  iuitil  his  dying  re- 
quell.  Can  you,  indeed,  require  the  torce  of 
a  command,  or  the  authority  ot  a  requeit, 
to  urge  you  to  the  difcharge  ot  a  citii^atiui 
duty  r"  Will  you  not  pieis  to  your  lips, 
and  to  your  hearts  the  precious  memoricds 
of  your  heavenly  friend  ^  While  you  moif- 
ten  them  with  a  tender  grief  for  the  unut- 
terable afflictions  by  vriuch  his  love  was 
perfected, "  will  you  not  ihed  over  them  the 
tears  of  your  gratitude  for  the  ineitimabie 
blelhngs  of  winch  at  that  moment,  he  made 
you  the  heirs?  Meditate  on  his  amiable 
charafcler,  and  his  divine  perfections — with 
a  melancholy  pleasure  retrace  the  unparal- 
lelled  fcenes  ot  his  lail  hour — indulge  a  noiy 
and  a  lawful  trmjport  while  you  a  well  on 
the  ineffable  proofs  of  his  love,  and  lifien 
a^ain  to  the  leifons  of  heavenly  wiidom  that 
flow  from  his  lips. 

This  holy  table  is  likevviie  an  altar  on 
which  you  offer  your  fervent  vows  to  your 
rifen  and  triumphant  Redeemer  who  is  now 


*  Hebrews  ii,  lo — 


59, 


ig6  The  Lord's  Supper 

afcended  far  above  all  principalities  and  pow- 
ers, and  every  name  ikat  is  named  iii  heaven 
and  on  earili,  to  hold  lor  you  the  glorious 
inheritance  which  he  purchalLd  with  his 
blood. — Over  thefe  precious  memorials,  and 
with  hearts  glowing  with  the  Jentinients  of 
duty  and  of  zeal,  you  are  called  to  profei's 
eternal  hdelity  to  him  who  hatii  Loved  us  to 
the  death,  and  who  now  and  ever  liveih  to 
make  inter cejjion  for  us.  Powerful  is  the  au- 
thority of  God  which  comnjaiids  our  obe- 
dience, but  infinitely  more  poweriul  are  ihe 
voluntary  chains  oi  love  that  hold  us  m  his 
fervice.  'Hie  love  erf  Uirijt  coiijiraintih  us^ 
becavje  we  thus  judge  that,  if  o}ie  dud j or  oil 
then  were  all  dead,  aiid  that  ke  diedjo)  ail  that 
they  who  live  fiould  not  hencejo,  Ji  live  to 
themjelves  but  to  him  toho  died j  or  ihcm,  and 
who  roje  again.  Sweet  aie  ii^  coniLramts  j 
and  from  their  fweetneis  ariies  their  ioice. 
Entering  into  the  inmoli  principles  oi  the 
mind,  and  mingling,  as  it  were,  with  all  its 
efrencc,  they  foim  a  tie  eternal  as  cur  be- 
ing, and  indiiloluble  but  with  the  foul  itleif. 
Approach  this  holy  facrifice,  thereioie,  to 
rekindle  at  it  the  lacred  fervours  of  divine 
love — to  offer  your  pure  vows  to  Keaven 
on  the  fame  altar  on  which  the  Son  of  God 


a  Memorial  of  Chrift.  197 

expired — and  to  confirm  your  rcfolutions 
of  duty  over  the  precious  memorials  of  his 
death. 

Finally,  my  brethren,  eRimate  your  fin- 
cerity  in  this  holy  duty,  by  the  growing 
fruits  of  righteouihels  in  your  future  life. 
Confecrate  to  the  fervice  of  your  C/eator 
and  Redeemer,  all  the  powers  of  your  hearts. 
And  remember,  that  the  memorials  of  your 
Saviour's  love  are  likewife  fymbols  of  that 
fraternal  love  that  Ihould  cxiO.  among  all 
chnflians.  As  you  partake  oj  one  bread  and 
drink  oJ  one  cup,  fo  are  you  conne6led  to- 
gether by  the  moll  intimate  unions.  See, 
therefore,  that  ye  love  one  another  with  pure 
heartsjervently .  Let  no  injuflice,  feififhnefs, 
pride,  or  envy,  pollute  your  intercourfe, 
one  with  another — Let  all  bitterncjs,  and 
-wrath,  and  anger,  and  clamour,  and  evil-Jpeak- 
ing,  be  put  away  Jrom  you,  with  all  malice — 
Cultivate  that  heavenly  wifdom  that  is  pure, 
peaceable,  gentle,  eajy  to  be  entreated,  J  nil  of 
iiiercy  and  good  fruits,  without  partiality ,  and 
-wiiJiout  hypocricy — Let  your  mutual  charity 
be  remarked  to  your  praife  as  it  was  to  the 
praife  of  thofehrft  illuilrious  difciples  who 
ipread  the  glory  of  the  crofs  along  with  its 


198  The  Lord's  Supper,  &c. 

pure  and  benevolent  fpirit,  over  the  whole 
earth..  BleiTed  Jefus  !  while  we  do  this  in 
remembrance  of  thee,JJied  abroad  thy  love  in  our 
hearts  by  the  Holy-Ghofl  ! — breathe  on  us  as 
thou  didfl  on  ihy  beloved  dil'ciples,  that  we 
may  receive  thy  fpirit ! 

AMEN! 


L    ^99    1 
DISCOURSE    VIII, 

THE  UNITED  INFLUENCE  OF  REFLECTION 
AND  SACRED  READING  IN  CULTIVAT- 
ING   AND   PURIFYING  THE  MANNERS. 


Psalm  cxix.  g. 

WJierewith  JJiall  a  young  man  cleanje  his  way  ? 
By  taking  heed  thereto  according  to  thy  -word, 

TO  know  wherein  virtue  confifts,  and  to 
underftand  the  moPc  efTeftual  means 
of  promoting  it,  were  the  principal  obje^s 
of  inquiry  among  the  ancient  fages.  In 
conformity  with  qucftions  which,  in  that 
age,  were  commonly  agitated  among  the 
wife  and  learned,  the  facred  writer  sSks, 
"  Wherewith  fliall  a  young  man  cleanfe  his 
way  ?" — What  are  the  beft  means  of  culti- 
vating a  pious  and  virtuous  habit  of  life  ? 
When  he  replies,  ^'  by  taking  heed  thereto 
according  to   thy   word/'  he  (trongly  inti- 


200  The  United  Inftaence  of 

mates  that  the  holy  fcrlptures  contain  the 
only  certain  rule,  and  the  moll  powerful 
motives  of  duty.  Reafon  is  too  vague  and 
uncertain  in  iis  conclufions,  and  too  feeble 
in  its  authority,  either  clearly  to  unfold  the 
law  of  virtue,  or  to  enforce  obedience  to 
its  precepts.  Philofophy  had,  in  vain,  ex- 
erted its  utmofl  powers  in  the  ancient  world 
to  in.lru  t,  and  reform  mankind.  But  we 
find,  in  the  facred  writings,  a  doirine  moil 
efFe  iual  for  this  end,  and  fuperior  to  all  the 
wifd  )m  of  the  ichoois,  both  for  its  evidence, 
and  Its  authority. 

This  do51rine,  applied  by  ferious  medi- 
tation to  the  regulation  of  our  condu6l,  is 
the  bell  mean  of  attaining  that  purity  of 
manners,  and  that  fantlity  of  hearty  which 
are  the  ornament  of  every  age,  and  efpecial- 
ly  of  youth,  and  to  attain  v/hich  has  ever 
been  the  great  object  of  the  wife  and  good. 

The  facred  poet  afics  this  queftion  in  the^ 
name  of  the  young ;  probably,  becaufe,  at 
the  ti)ne  of  compofing  this  pfaim,  he  was 
himfelf  young*  ;   and  becaufe,  in  this  glow- 

*  Commentators  fuppofe  that  this  pfalm  was  wrlttea 
during  his  psrfecution  by  Saul. 


RpfleUion  and  Sacred  Reading.       201 

ing  and  inexperienced  age,  he  felt,  with 
pecuhar  force,  the  necefiTity  of  a  divine  wif- 
dom  to  dire6l  its  erring  footfleps,  and  a  di- 
vine power  to  controul  and  fanftify  its  im- 
petuous pafiions.  It  is  of  the  utmoll  impor- 
tance to  train  youth  in  the  habits  of  piety 
and  virtue,  and  to  enable  them  early  and 
wifely  to  regulate  their  own  conduft.  For 
this  end  two  principles  are  pointed  out  in 
the  text  as  hngularly  ufeful — attentive 
confideration  of  our  w^ays — and  careful 
fludy  and  application  of  the  precepts  and 
inUruftions  of  the  holy.fcriptures — In  other 
words,  felf-rejle^ion — and  reflcdion  on  the 
zcord  of  God, 

The  illullration  of  thefc  principles  will 
form  the  fubftance  of  the  foUowiDe  dif- 
courfe. 

I.  In  the  firft  place,  felf- reflexion  is  eflen- 
tial  to  the  foundation  of  a  virtuous  life. 
Hence  we  learn  both  what  to  cultivate,  and 
what  to  correft  in  our  own  hearts  and  con- 
duft.  Thofe  v/ho  are  void  of  reilettion  ne- 
celfarily  become  ilrangers  at  home  ;  and,  as 
happens  to  men  who  never  look  into  their 
aflairs,  their  highcft,  and  moll  momentous 
C  c 


202  The  United  Irifluence  of 

intereils  are  running  into  derangement,  and 
they  are  haftening  to  ruin  without  being 
fenfible  of  their  danger.  A  man  without 
confideration  is  a  fool,  ignorant  of  himfelf 
and  his  mod  important  concerns — he  is  a 
wretch,  the  fport  of  his  own  paffions,  or  of 
the  enticements  of  other  finners — he  is  a 
madman  who  is  rufliing  on  deftruclion,  and 
refufes  to  open  his  eyes.  What  then  is  im- 
plied in  taking  heed  to  our  ways  ;  or,  in  that 
refie6lion  on  ourfplves  and  our  own  conduft 
which  is  recommended  by  the  facred  wri- 
ter? It  cannot  imply  lefs  than  a  careful 
examination  oi  i\\Q principles,  and  a  ferious 
attention  to  the  confeqiiences  of  our  a61ions 
as  both  are  dcfcribed  and  difplayed  in  the 
word  of  God. 

If  men  do  not  frequently  infpeft  their 
hearts,  and  fearch  the  principles  of  their 
conduft,  the  corrupted  fountain  of  nature 
will  continue  to  flow  impure.  It  is  by 
cleanfmgthefpring  that  the  ftreams  become 
healthful  and  clear.  But  if  that  fource  of 
unhallowed  defires  and  diibrdered  pafiicns 
is  kept  covered  up  from  view,  and  is  never 
examined  in  order  to  be  puriHed,  will  it  not 
be  continually  breaking  forth  in  fenfual  af- 


Rcfldiion  and  Sacred  Reading.      203 

feftions,  in  criminal  pleafures,  in  felfifli 
plans,  in  envy,  malice,  bitternefs,  and  wrath, 
in  whatever  alienates  brethren  irom  one 
another,  or,  in  whatever  only  unites  Tinners 
in  the  purfuit  of  crimes  ?  The  concealed 
heart  increafes  its  foulnel-i  and  corruptions 
by  time.  Examining  its  principles,  and 
laying  them  open  to  view,  is  among  the  bed 
means  of  correclmg  them,  and  rendering 
them  pure.  Impurity  cannot  bear  the  in- 
fpedion  of  our  ov/n  mind,  nor  the  judg- 
ment of  our  confcience.  Corrupted  as  hu- 
man nature  is,  lin  cannot  be  feen  in  its  true 
colours  without  fliame,  nor  beheld  in  its 
relation  to  the  divine  law  without  fear* 
Self-refle61ion  is,  therefore,  a  powerful  prin- 
ciple of  repentance  and  reformation. 

Such  inquiries  faithfully  conduced  fervc, 
not  only  to  bring  to  light,  and  to  condemn 
concealed  vices,  but  to  unmafk  falfe  and 
pretended  virtues.  Frequently  the  fairell 
aftions  are  found  to  flow  from  motives  that 
vitiate  the  whole.  Hypocrify  may  contam- 
inate the  mofl  folemn  a6ls  of  devotion — a 
regard  merely  to  intereft,  or  to  reputation, 
may  prefide  over  apparently  the  moft  lau- 
dable and  honorable  difcharge  of  the  dutier. 


204  The  United  Influence  of 

conne8ed  v/ith   our  refpedive  flations  in 
life.     Vain  glory  may   become  the  princi- 
ple of  thofe  humane   and  amiable  virtues 
that,  in  their  exercile  command  the  applaufe 
of  every  beholder.     Nay,  mercenary  aims-, 
like  a  worm  at  the  heart  of  the  faireft  fruit, 
may  corrupt  and  canker  even  the  nobleil  afts 
of  beneficene  and  charity.  It  is  only  by  fcru- 
tinizing  and  fiiting  our  own  charafter  that 
we  can  feparate  the  clean  from  the  unclean, 
the  pure  from  the  vile,  and  place  virtue  on 
its  true  and  evangelical  foundations,  the  fu- 
prerae  love   of  God,   and   the  fmcere  and 
equal  love  of  our  neighbour  as  ourfelves. — 
The  w^ord  of  God  iorms  the  perfe61,  and 
the  only  tefl  of  the  principles   of  our  obe- 
dience.    Every  other  is  rendered  imperfett 
by  our  ignorance,  or  uncertain  by  our  feif- 
love.     According  to  its  holy  and  unerring 
dictates,  therefore,  let  us  examine,  and  regu- 
late our  conda6L    And,  happily,  it  furniihes 
not  only  the  rule,  but  the  example  of  our 
virtue.     In  the  room    of  every   precept   is 
the  pattern  fet  us  by  our  Lord  Jefus  Chrift. 
Let  ihejamejpirit  be  in  us  zohicli  was  aljo  in 
hiiii — the  lame  fervent  zeal  for  the  glory  of 
God   that  confumed  him — the   fame   pro- 
found reverence  for  the  divine  prefence  that 


R ffleciio nand  Sacred  P^eadii ig.       2 05 

impreficd  his  mind — the  fame  tranquil  re- 
fip-naiion  to  the  divine  v/ill  that  filled  his 
heart — the  lame  inextinguifhable  love  for 
his  brethren  of  the  human  race,  for  whom 
he  was  willing  to  m.ake  the  facrifice  of  all 
things,  and  athially  made  the  facrifice  of 
his  life — the  fame  iinfpotted  purity  in 
tliought,  word,  and  deed,  that  exempted 
him  from  every  unholy  and  lenfual  influ- 
ence— the  fame  ferene  and  conflant  view  to 
the  heavenly  recompence  of  rev/ard  that 
elevated  him  above  the  world,  and  rendered 
him  incapable  of  being  fofiened  by  its  plea- 
fures,  or  diimayed  by  its  luiferings.  Such 
were  the  cliaraders  that  adorned  the  life 
and  converfation  of  our  blelled  Lord,  and 
fuch  aKb  (hould  diftinguifh  his  fincere  difci- 
ples.  Whcrezoiih  Jliall  ayouTig  man  clcanfe 
his  loay  ?  By  taking  heed  thereto  according  to 
thy  "word.  By  examining,  in  the  firft  place, 
and  regulating  the  principles  of  the  heart — 
and, 

In  the  next  place,  by  a  wife  anticipation, 
and  ferious  confi deration  of  the  confequen- 
ces  of  his  conduft.  If  men  would  look  for- 
ward to  the  ilfue  of  fm  either  as  it  is  dif- 
clofed  by  experience,  or  as  it  is  reprefented 


2o5  The  United  Influence  of 

in  the  infallible  word  of  truth,  little  elfe 
would  be  necelfary  to  reclaim  the  vicious, 
or  to  rcRrain  their  fooliili  and  criminal  pur- 
fuits.  What  youth,  for  example,  would 
plunge  into  the  gulph  of  intemperance  and 
debauchery  if,  at  the  moment,  he  realized 
the  foiicitude,  the  anxiety,  the  difeafe  and 
lliame  with  which  thcfc  vices  fliali  be  fuc- 
(Ceded  ?  Or  thofe  difgraceful  fcenes  of  fol- 
ly and  madnefs  in  which  they  will  too  prob- 
ably end  ?  When  \vA\  impels,  and  its  tempt- 
ations invite,  would  he  go,  as  too  often  he 
does,  like  an  ox  to  the  f caught  ei\  or  as  a  fool 
io  the  corrcRion  of  thejlccks,  ii  lie  anticipat- 
ed its  difguits,  its  fdiiiincfs,  and  riot — the 
liabits  of  idlcnefs  and  diihpation  in  which  it 
involves  the  profligate — the  real  infignifi- 
cailce,  and  the  contempt  in  their  own  cfti- 
ination,  and  in  that  of  the  world,  into 
which,  at  lali,  it  almoft  inevitably  fmks 
them  ? 

Pleafure  not  yet  tafted  appears  with  un- 
tarnifhed  charms,  and  conceals  from  our 
view  the  pains  appointed  by  nature  to  fuc- 
ceed  it.  The  paflions  and  appetites  gild  all 
their  objects  as  they  advance.  It  is  only 
from  behind  that  their  real  deformhv  is  feen. 


Rejleclion  and  Sacred  Reading.       207 

And  then,  how  often  is  the  finner  compell- 
ed to  look  back  upon  himfelf  with  com- 
punftion  and  reproach !  How  often  tor- 
mented with  painful  and  ineffeduai  wifhes 
to  be  able  to  recall  time,  and  to  correal  the 
errors  of  the  pall !  Ah  !  time  cannot  be  re- 
called— but  it  may  be  ufefully  anticipated. 
What  crimes,  what  miferies,  what  public 
fhame,  what  inward  felf-reproach  might  not 
youth  often  avoid  if,  they  v/ould  look  for- 
ward to  the  unhappy  fruits  that  muft  necef- 
farily  fpring  from  a  courfe  of  vice  !  If  they 
would  take  pains  to  11  rip  the  objeds  of  the 
paffions  of  thofe  delufive  charms  v/hich  an 
inflamed  imagination  throws  around  them  ! 
If  they  would  not  precipitately  abandon 
themfelves  to  the  impulfes  ofrifmg  appe- 
tite, or  the  tranfports  of  inilamed  deiire,  but 
would  paufe  to  confider  the  reflections 
which  rcafon  and  confcience  will  uree  upon 
thein  vv'hcn  appetite  is  fated,  and  all  the  con- 
fequences  of  their  folly  are  before  their 
view !  It  is  the  inconfiderate  purfuit  of  plea- 
fure,  without  looking  forward  to  the  cloic 
of  the  fccne  that  infenfibly  engages  youth 
in  the  hnbits  of  vice.  A  comprehenlive 
view  of  life,  and  a  prudent  regard  to  confe- 
r[uencc^>.  vrould  rellrain  their  indifcretions, 


2o8  Tke  United  hjluence  of 

or  fpeedily  reclaim  them  from  their  errors. 
With  what  energy  of  language  does  the 
wifeft  of  men  urge  this  argument  on  the 
young  againil  intemperance  and  lull?  Speak- 
in.*^  of  the  latter,  he  faith,  "  more  bitter  than 
death  is  the  woman  whofe  heart  is  fnares 
and  nets/'*  And  of  the  former,  he  afks, 
"  Who  hath  woe  ?  Who  hath  forrow  ?  Who 
hath  contentions  ?  Who  hath  babbiinai:  ? 
Who  hath  wounds  without  caufe?  Who 
hath  rednefs  of  eyes?  They  that  tarry  long 
at  the  v/ine— they  tliat  go  to  feek  mixed 
wine.  Look  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is 
red,  when  it  giveth  its  colour  in  the  cup, 
when  it  moveth  itielf  aright — at  the  laft,  it 
biteth  like  a  ferpent,  and  Itingeth  like  an 
adder"f 

Although  thefe  confi derations  are  impor- 
tant and  i'erious,  and  on  minds  notloil  to  pru- 
dence and  honor,  and  juft  lentiments  of  lelf- 
refpe6t,  will  be  effeftual  to  reilrain  the  vi- 
cious tendencies  of  the  heart ;  yet,  the  xoord 
of  God  teaches  us  to  extend  our  views  of  the 
confequences  of  atlions  beyond  the  prefent 

*  Ecclcs.  vii.  26. 

f  Pryv.  xxiii.  2$ — 52. 


Reflection  and  Sacred  Reading.        209 

Jlfe,  and  to  confider  their  relations  to  the 
life  to  come.      This  is  the  moft  intereltino- 
light  in  which  our  conduft  can  be  regarded  ; 
and,  on  all  nien,  it  may,  and  ought  to  have 
the  moil    powerful   influence  in  regulating 
their  morals,  and cleanfing  their  loay.     When 
we  unite  in  one  view  our  whole  being,  and 
conhder  the  eternal  retributions   of  mercy 
and  of  juftice  which,  according  to  the  fcrip- 
tures,  (hall   be  made  to    the  righteous  and 
the    wicked,  what  ftronger  motives  can  be 
urged  to  men  to  confirm  in  them  the  prin- 
ciples  of  duty,  or  to  perfuade  them  to  re- 
pentance ?    Eternal,    undefcribable  happi- 
nefs    and    mifery   are   placed   before   you. 
What  an  infinite  advantage  lies  on  the  fide 
of  virtue  and  holinefs,  in  oppofition  to  all 
the  tranfient  pleafures  of  fin !    How  dearly 
purchafed  are   its  falfe  and  momentary  en- 
joyments, if,  the  next  moment,   the  finner 
mull  lie  down  in  unquenchable  fire  !  "  Oh  ! 
that  they  were  wife,  that  they   underfiood 
this,  that  they  would  confider  their  latter 
end  !"*     ''  Rejoice,  O  young  man  !  in   thy 
youth,  and   let   thy  heart  cheer  thee  in  the 
days   of  thy  youth — v/alk   in   the  ^'/ays   of 
4:hine  heart,  and  in  the  fight  of  thine  eyes  7. 

■^'  Deut.  xxxii.  29. 


12 1  o  The  United  Injluence  of 

but,  know  thou  that  for  all  thefe  things  G  od 
will  bring  thee  into  judgment  !"*  Oh!  fatal 
termination  of  youthful  follies !  Let  the 
awful  denunciations  of  the  word  of  God 
enter  into  thy  heart — they  cannot  fail  to 
produce  in  thee  fmcere  amendment  of  life. 

"  Wherewith  fhall  a  young  man  cleanfe 
his  way  ?  By  taking  heed  thereto  according 
to  thy  word."  By  this  reply  the  facred  wri, 
ter  intends  to  recommend  not  only  reflec- 
tion on  curfelves,  and  on  the  courle  and  if- 
iue  of  our  way — -but 

II.  In  the  next  place,  a  careful  fludy  and 
application  of  the  word  of  God  for  the  di- 
retlion  and  government  of  our  conduft. 

Some  rule  for  this  purpofe,  either  of  phi- 
lofophy,  or  of  revelation,  it  behoves  us  to 
have.  Some  lights  we  require  to  inflruft 
us  in  our  duty — fome  law  to  regulate  our 
aclions — fome  eifeclual  motives  addreffed 
to  the  heart,  and  fitted  to  engage  our  atten- 
tion, and  command  our  obedience.  That 
iuminous  and   pcrfed  rule  which  the  an* 

''^  Eecles.  xi,  9. 


RcpBion  and.  Sacred  Raiding.        211 

cicnt  fages  purfucd  with  fiich  laborious  but 
hefrtating  (kps  in  the  dark,  has  been  oiTe red 
to  us  by  the  incarnate  wifdom  of  Heaven. 
And,  if  w^  compare  the  facred  writings  with 
what  uninfpired  reafon  is  able  to  teach  us 
on  the  fubjeit  of  our  duties  and  our  hopes, 
or  with  vdiat  all  thefchools  of  philofophy 
have  ever  taught,  how  fuperiorare  they  in 
value  both  as  a  lav/  of  life,  and  a  mean  of 
fanttihcation. 

I  am  not  here  .to  defcant  on  all  the  ex- 
cellencies of  the  facred  writings — the  fub- 
limity,  and  the  divine  perfection  of  their 
fpirit — the  lights  which  they  have  fhed  up- 
on a  benighted  world — the  confolations 
%vhich  they  have  in  ftore  for  the  miferable 
— the  mercies  of  Heaven  which  they  reveal 
to  the  guilty.  I  mean  fimply  to  illuftrate 
their  fnpevior  excellency  above  every  other 
law  that  men  have  difcovered  or  invented, 
for  cleaniing  the  heart,  and  regulating  the 
life. — it  coniiils 

In  tlieir  purity — in  their  authority — and 
in  the  fublime  and  powerful  motives  which 
they  addiefs  to  tlie  human  heart  in  order 
to  lead  it  to  piety  and  virtue. 


212  The  United  Infueiice  of 

In  the  fird  place,  in  their  purity. 

Their  fpirit,  and  their  tendcney  is  to 
promote  peri'ecl:  fanftity  of  ir.anners. — 
Whatever  flows  from  human  reafon  alone 
will  be  mingled  with  human,  corruption, 
and  tainted  by  it.  Accordingly,  in  all 
the  fvitems  of  morals  that  have  been 
framed  by  philofophers  either  ancient  or 
modern,  v/e  lind  a  tindure  of  the  chara61er 
of  the  author — fome  principle  that  favours 
vice — fome  that  juftilies  or  excufes  frailty. 
We  may  commonly  determine  the  ru- 
ling paiiion  of  the  v/riter  from  the  fpirit 
of  his  work.  But  in  tlie  divine  v/ord  we 
difcern  a  purity  worthy  the  holinels  of 
him  who  fpeaks.  The  Ipirit  of  God  knows 
no  accommodation  v/ith  hn,  or  with  frail- 
ty. He  leaves  even  no  ambiguities  in 
the  truth  behind  which  the  vices  of  men 
may  find  a  proteftion.  All  is  plain,  fimple, 
and  mod  holy.  But  the  word  of  Chrift 
aims  not  at  regulating  the  outward  con- 
du6l  merely,  but  enters  into  the  heart, 
and  fanttiiies  the  fource  of  our  habits  and 
manners.  "  Except  a  man  be  born  again, 
faith  the  Saviour,  he  cannot  fee  the  king- 


RfJiLclion  an d  Sacred  Reading,      213 

dom  of  God.""  No  incenFe  can' be  accepta- 
ble on  his  akar  but  the  incenfe  of  a  pure 
heart — no  ftieams  can  be  pure  that  do  not 
flow  fVom  a  pure  fountain — no  a6lions  can 
be  approved  that  do  not  (pring  from  a  ho- 
ly principle.  The  holy  fcriptures  cleanfe 
the  life  by  clcanhng  its  inward  fountains. 
A  mind  illuminated  by  the  word  and  fpirit 
of  God,  and  a  heart  renewed  in  all  its  prin- 
ciples and  affedions  by  his  grace,  will  af- 
pire  to  higher  degrees  of  virtue  than  were 
cultivated  by  the  luges  of  the  world  who 
were  contented  with  being  merely  citizens. 
They  will  aim  at  a  celeftial  purity  accom- 
modated to  that  mature,  and  perfect  (late  of 
being  in  the  Heavens,  of  which  the  prefect 
life  is  only  the  infancy,  and  the  preparato- 
ry difcipline. 

The  word  of  God  acquires  g;rcat  value 
and  efficacy  as  a  law  of  holinefs,  in  the  next 
place,  from  its  high  authority. 

*  John  iii.  3 — A  principle  like  tliis  was  maintained  like- 
wife  in  many  of  the  ancient  fchools  ;  and  that  change  of  tem- 
per and  habits  which  philofophy  aimed  to  produce  in  its 
difciples  was  ftiled  regeneration.  But,  in  fpirit  and  meaning, 
the  do>51:riae  of  the  fchools  was  far  inferior  to  the  doilrix;e  of 
Chrift. 


214         'The  United  Infiiencc  of 

Extremely  feeble,  in  the  bulk  of  mankind, 
are  the  dictates  of  reafon  as  a  rule  of  duty. 
On  many  fu bjecls  it  is  dubious  and  hefitat- 
ing  in  its  decifions — on   many  it  is  eafily 
corrupted  and  biafled  by  the  heart — on  all, 
its  conclufions,  purfued  through  a  train  of 
dedudions  which  grow  Icfs  evident  at  every 
flep,  ftrike  witR  litiie  force  upon  the  mjnd 
wherever  they   are  oppofed  by   the  vices 
and  paihons   of  men.     Were  they  clearer 
than  they  are,  reafon  is  too  weak  to  make 
them  obeyed.     Of  its  weaknefs  let  me  pro- 
duce a  familiar  and  acknowledged  example. 
Although    the    principles    of  juftice,    that 
form  the  bafis   of  fociety,  are  among  the 
moil  evident  of  its  conclufions,  is  that  evi- 
dence alone  fufficient  to  procure  fubmiffion 
to  its  rules  ?  Would  the  mafs  of  men,  be- 
come good  citizens,  if  they  were  fubjeft  to 
no  other  controul  than  the  lights  of  their 
own  minds  ?  What  diforders,  what  crimes 
would  diiiract  the  (late,  if  their  ov/n  reafort 
wxre  their  fole  law,  and  their  fole  judge  ! 
And  would  they,  if  they  were  obedient  to 
no  higher  autlioritv,  become  good  citizens 
of  that  heavenly  country  whole  duties  are 
ihhnitely    more    complicated    and  pure  ? 
What,  alas !  would  be  their  fyilem  of  reli- 


RcjIcfiiGn  and  Sacred  Reading.      215 

gion  ?  What  their  law  of  duty  ?  What  the 
fandions  that  would  give  ethcacy  to  that 
law,  if  they  were  left  to  derive  them  all  from 
the  feeble  lights  of  their  own  minds  ?  Ob- 
fcure,  iraperfeft,  and  impotent.  No,  we  re- 
quire revelation  to  render  duty  certain,  and 
we  require  the  awful  authority  of  God  to 
give  it  its  full  energy  upon  the  heart. 

Man  was  formed  to  be  governed  chiefly 
by  authority,  in  order  to  promote  and  fe- 
cure  his  virtue.  His  lirfl  opinions  and  ac- 
tions are  fubjeflied  to  the  wifdom  and  con- 
troul  of  parents — his  early  years  to  the  in- 
flru^tions  and  difcipline  of  teachers.  The 
moil  reafonable  laws  of  fociety  require 
to  be  enjoined  by  a  power  fuperior  to  his 
individual  will :  and  the  wifell  legidators 
have  found  it  necelfary  to  call  in  the  force 
of  religion  to  ftrengtiien  the  bands  of  focial 
order,  and  to  give  complete  and  efficient 
energy  to  their  lav/s.  But  what  is  the  vene- 
ration and  obedience  which  v/e  owe  to  the 
mod  revered  and  beloved  of  parents— to 
the  moR  wife  and  povrerful  rulers  of  the 
world — to  the  preceptors  that  have  enlight- 
ened our  early  years— or  to  the  mailers  of 
fcicnce  that  govern  the  opinions  of  the  a^e. 


2i6  The  United  Infucncc  of 

compared  with  that  which  is  due  to  the 
eternal  Spirit  of  Truth  who  hath  enhghtcn- 
ed  the  law  of  our  duty  ?  To  the  facred  and 
awful  authority  of  the  Creator  and  Judge  of 
the  univerfe,  added  to  that  law  to  give  it  an 
eltet^ual  iinpreliion  on  the  heart?  The 
Chriftian,  the  believer  in  divine  revelation 
enjoys  infinitely  more  powerful  means  of 
virtue  than  otliers  who  depend  only  on 
themfelve>,  or  who  attempt  to  follow  the 
erring  and  contradictory  lights  every  where 
held  out  to  them  by  a  fidfe  philofophy. — 
When  I  hold  in  my  hand  the  facred  volume, 
I  feem  to  hear  the  voice  of  an  affetlionate 
parent  who,  by  requiring  perfe61  holiyefs^ 
has  no  other  end  in  view  but  my  fupreme 
felicity — I  feem  to  liften  to  the  di61ates  of 
unerrnip-  truth — I  feem  to  receive  the  com- 
mands^  of  a  divine  lavv giver  who  has  ail 
power  in  Heaven  and  on  earth  to  fave  or 
to  dedroy — I  feem  to  read  the  decrees  of 
that  holy  and  omnifcient  Judge  from  whom 
I  ihali  Ihortly  receive  my  everlafting  defli- 
ny.  What  an  aA\  iul,  what  a  fublime,  and 
facred  authority  does  the  v/ord  of  God 
poiTefs  !  Both  youth  and  age  will  find  in 
the  iludy  of  its  divine  precepts  the  hdppi- 
eil  inftitution  for  clea'rifrng   their  way,  and 


Rcfieclion  an  d  Sacred  Reading.       217 

cultivating  in  them  the  habits  of  virtue. 
Let  it  be  your  meditation  all  the  day — Let 
its  pure  and  facred  truths  be  ever  before 
your  eyes — Walk  in  its  heavenly  light — 
And,  let  it  be  your  guide  to  the  eternal 
fource  of  light  and  perte6lion. 

Its  influence  in  fanclifving  the  heart  may 
be  edimated  likewife,  from  the  high  and  in- 
terefting  motives  v/hich  it  propofes  to  man- 
kind to  reclaim  them  from  vice,  and  to  lead 
them  to  virtue.     The  motives  that  orinci- 

i. 

pally  deferve  our  confideration  on  this  fub- 
je61,  not  only  for  their  fuperior  foixe,  but 
becaufe  they  chiefly  didinguilh  the  gofpel 
from  every  other  moral  inititution,  are  the 
retributions  of  divine  jiiftice  to  the  virtuous 
and  the  vicious  in  a  future  (late  of  exigence 
— and  the  innnite  mercy  of  God  in  the 
redemption  of  the  world. 

Philofophy,  in  inviting  her  difciples  to 
virtue  can  propofe  to  them  only  the  prefent 
peace,  reputation,  or  interell  that  attends 
it ;  niotives  which  religion  enjoys  in  com- 
mon with  her,  and  enjoys  in  a  much  higher 
degree.  She  cannot  look  into  eternity,  or 
(lie  looks  into  that  profound  abyfs  with  a 
~  e 


T7 


2 1 8  TJie  United  Injluence  of 

feeble  and  unileady  eye,  incapable  of  diftin- 
guifhing  any  objeft.  If  a  few  men  of 
elevated  virtue,  and  warm  imagination,  like 
Cicero  and  Plato,  entertained  a  faint  hope 
of  exiiling  after  the  prefent  life,  the  greater 
part  of  philofophers,  unable  to  fte  any 
thing  certain  beyond  the  grave,  believed 
that,  at  death,  they  diould  ceafe  to  be. 
This  principle  diffolved  at  once  the  flrong- 
cfl  ties  of  moral  obligation.*  It  is  the  fm- 
gular  glory  of  the  gofpel  that  in  it  life 
and  immortality  are  ofiered  to  the  hopes 
of  the  pious.  In  it,  likewife,  is  denounc- 
ed the  moil  fearful  defliny  to  the  wick- 
ed and  impenitent.  It  hath  fcattered  the 
dark,  impenetrable  cloud  that  hung  on 
the  hour  of  death.  It  hath  rendered  the 
-future  certain  as  the  prefent,  and  hath 
4irawn  from  eternity  motives  the  moft  fub- 
lime  to  animate  and  ftrengthen  their  virtue, 

*  When  we  read  the  dubious  difcuffions  conccrnhig  a  fu- 
ture (late  whicli  took  place  in  '^he  Roman  I'enate,  in  which 
was  airembled  all  the  wifdom  and  learning  of  the  c  apitai  of 
the  world,  at  the  lime  when  they  were  about  to  detcrrr;ine 
on  the  fate  of  Cataline  and  his  afibciates,  we  are  irrchftibly 
lead  to  deplore  tlie  blindnefs  and  inhimity  of  the  human 
mind  unenlighted  by  divine  revelation.  What  motives  in 
aid  of  virtue  were  they  able  to  draw  from  that  Hate  which 
they  knew  not  whether  to  believe  or  difbelicvc,  but  were  moll 
inclined  to  deny  ?— Sulj  de  bch  catalin.  Speeches  of  Cjcfar, 
€ato,&c. 


Refleilion  and  Sacred  Reitding.      2 1 9 

and  the  moll  awful  to  difcourage  and  re- 
ftrain  vice.  What  can  be  more  awful,  or 
{Irike  the  confcience  of  guilt  with  deeper,^ 
or  more  falutary  fear,  than  the  tribunal  of 
juilice— than  that  day  wherein  God  hath 
appointed  to  judge  the  fecrets  of  ail  men  by 
Jeius  ChriR— than  the  decree  by  which  the 
guilty  fliall  be  configned  to  fulfer  the  ven- 
geance of  eternal  fire  .i^— Arrell  thy  itep  O 
profligate  youth  !  In  the  a61  of  vice  paufe, 
and  look  before  thee  !  Behold  the  tribunal 
—the  judge— the  chains  of  death— the  pri- 
fons  where  the  wicked  dwell  with  everlajling 
burnings !  Wilt  thou,  m  the  intoxication 
of  thy  pajions  brave  the  terrors  of  almigh- 
ty wrath  ?  Are  not  thefe  views  fufhcient 
to  pally  all  the  powers  of  fm?— Perhaps 
thou  wilt  fay— it  has  been  often  faid— for- 
bear thefe  reprefentations.  No  man  was 
ever  made  virtuous  by  fear  alone.  But,  is 
it  not  the  lirft  ftep  to  virtue  to  break  off  our 
fins  by  repentance?  Are  not  the  falutary 
reftraints  of  fear  neceliary,  in  the  greater 
part  of  men,  to  prepare  the  heart  for  the  ad^ 
million  of  higher  and  purer  principles  ?* 

*  The  good  influence  which  the  apprehenfions  of  a  future 
iudgment,  and  the  punilhment  of  the  wicked,  even  in  the 
Iniperfeft  manner  m  which  they  were  conceived  by  pa^anifm, 


220  The  United  Influence  of 

On  the  other  hand,  d\\-^Ei  thy  view  to  the 
glorious  hope  which  is  propofed  in  the  gof- 
pel  to  animate  tlie  good  man  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duty,  and  encourage  his  pro- 
grefs  towards  perfetlion.  Not  the  uncer- 
tain hope  which  the  prince  of  Roman  phi- 
lofophers  neither  could  confent  to  reiign, 
nor  was  able  iirmly  to  hold.^'  Not  the 
faint  and  doubtful  ray  that  gleamed  on  the 
evening  of  Socrates  and  gilded  to  him  for 
a  moment  the  clouds  of  death  ;f  but  the 
full  ailu ranee  of  fiiith — the  clear  and  un- 


Were  fuppofed,  by  the  befl:  men  of  antiquity,  to  have  upon 
morals,  may  be  underftood  by  a  remark  of  Polybius — Book 
VI.  Speaking  of  the  Greeks  who,  in  that  age,  had  been 
corrupted  by  the  Epicurean  Philoibphy,  he  fays  "  If  you 
lend  a  talent  to  a  Greek,  and  bind  him  to  the  repayment  by 
ten  engagements,  with  as  many  fecurities,  and  vvitnefies,  it  is 
im.poflible  to  make  him  regard  his  word.  Whereas,  among 
the  Romans,  they  are  always  puntftual  to  the  oaths  they 
have  taken  For  \vhich  reafon  the  apprehenfions  of  infernal 
torments  were  wifely  eftabliflied  ;  and  now  to  oppofe  them  is 
wholly  irrational." 

*  Cicero,  reafoning  on  the  fubje(?t  of  immortality  with 
that  doubtfulnefs  that  muft  neceffarily  accompany  all  our 
concluficns  on  this  fubjedl  that  are  not  derived  from  revela- 
tion, inclines,  however,  to  the  probability  of  a  future  and 
happy  exiiience  for  good  men.  He  adds  that  this  expefta- 
tion  is  a  fource  of  fo  much  confolation  to  him,  that,  if  he  is 
in  an  error  in  indulging  it,  he  does  not  wifli  to  be  undeceived. 

f  The  hope  exprelfed  by  Socrates  to  his  friends  who  came 
to  vifit  him  on  the  day  on  which  he  died,  and  the  doubtful 
manner  in  which  he  uttered  it,  are  well  known  to  every  per- 
fon  acquainted  v/ith  ancient  hiftory. 


Reflection  and  Sacred  Reading.       221 

clouded  light  of  the  Son  of  Righteoufners. 
- — Bltfied  and  triumphant  ailurance  !  What 
is  this  momentary  and  corruptible  exiHence, 
compared  with  that  eternal  being  that  Ihall 
fhine  as  the  liars  in  Heaven  for  ever  and 
ever?  What  are  thefe  feeble  and  grofs  i'en- 
fations  of  pleafure  by  w^hich  we  are  allied  to 
the  beads  that  perifh,  compared  with  thofe 
divine  and  immortal  powers  of  enjoyment, 
by  which  we  fhall  reicmble  the  angels  that 
furround  the  throne,  and,  in  fome  meafure 
approximate  towards  God  him.ielf  ?  Thefe 
glorious  rewards  of  piety  and  faith,  of  truth 
and  virtue,  are  among  the  raoil  pov/erful,  as 
well  as  the  moll  fublim.e  motives  to  a  pure 
and  holy  life.  Such  elevated  and  ia-imonal 
hopes  tend  to  raife  the  affections  above  the 
grofs  and  corrupting  influence  of  the  world. 
They  tend  to  quench  the  flames  of  lull,  to 
extinguifh  the  rude  and  wrathful  paffions, 
and  to  cultivate  in  the  heart,  that  holincjs 
Tjoithout  -which  no  manflicilljee  the  Lord.  Can 
fenfuahty  debafe  the  foul  that  expcds  to  ap- 
proach the  throne  of  God,  and  to  dwell  for- 
ever in  his  prefence?  Can  power  opprefs 
thofe  whom  it  hopes  to  meet  as  brethren 
and  equals  in  the  kingdom  above  ?  Can  en- 
vy, hatred  or  revenge,  rankle  in  the  bofoms 


222  The  United  hiflucnce  of 

of  ihofe  who  afpire  to  the  fociety  of  th?r 
bleffed  in  Heaven  among  whom  reigns  only 
a  pure  and  eternal  love  P — Are  the  prefent 
rapid  moments  of  our  probation,  Ramping 
their  impreffion  upon  our  everlailing  defti- 
r>y  ?  Is  every  inftant  preparing  for  us  new 
flames  below,  or  new  fccncs  of  felicity  and 
honor  above  ?  What  diligence  and  ferven- 
cy (hould  thefe  confi derations  add  to  every 
aft  of  duty  !  Will  hncere  piety  raife  a  worm 
-of  dull  to  immortal  glory  ?  How  holy  ought 
we  to  be  iu  ail  manner  of  life  and  converfa- 
tion ! 

Finally,  religion  propofes  to  us  llrong  ad- 
ditional motives  to  duty,  drawn  from  .the 
mercy  of  God  in  the  redemption  of  the 
v/orld.  They  merit  an  ample  illuftration, 
but  I  can  .only  glance  at  them  in  the  moft 
harty  manner. 

On  this  fubjeft,  reafon  andphilofophy  af- 
ford us  no  aid.  The  gofpel  alone  is  able  to 
point  out  the  way  in  which  fmners  can  have 
accefs  to  their  Maker  and  their  judge  of- 
fended by  their  crimes,  and  coniframed,  if 
I  may  fpeak  fo,  by  the  perfeftion  of  his  na- 
ture, to  puniih  their  guilt.     It  reveals  lo  us 


Rcfieciion  and  Sacred  Reading.      223 

the  love  of  God  in  the  riehefl  and  moflaflon- 
ifliing  afcl  of  mercy  that  was  ever  difplayed 
to  the  univerfe. — Could  I  draw  afide  the  veil 
from  the  dreadful  pi6lure  of  human  guih,  or 
prefent  to  your  view  the  catalogue  of  our 
innumerable  crimes,  I  might  convey  lome 
idea  of  the  infinite  grace  that  was  pleafed  to 
forego  the  rights  of  his  juftice  on  man,  and 
to  divert  its  awful  thunders  to  the  head  of 
his  beloved  Son.     Could  I  pluck  off  the  co- 
vering from  Hell,  and  difclofe  its  tremen- 
dous prifons,  the  deflined  abodes  of  the  guil- 
ty— could  I  unfold  the  gates  of  Heaven  and 
pour  upon  your  fight  the  effulgence  of  that 
glory  that  eye  hath  notjecn,  neither  hath  ear 
heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  oj  man 
to  conceive,  but  v/Iiicli  is  referved  for  thofe 
who  are  redeemed  by  the  precious  blood  of 
Chrifl,  I   might   enable  you  to  conceive  the 
boundlefs  obligations  impofed  upon  us  by 
his  love. 

But  the  mod  illuflrious  proof  of  his  love 
is  feen  in  himlelf — in  his  birth — in  his  life — 
and,  abo\c  all,  in  his  death,  when  he  bore  our 

Jins  in  his  ozcn  body  on  the  tree. Young 

man ! — O  young  man,  immcrfed  in  plea- 


224  '■^'^^  United  Lijluence  of 

fare  !  devoted  to  thy  own  enjoyments  !  for- 
getful of  thy  Creator,  and  thy  duty  !  Look 
on  the  Saviour  of  the  world  !  Can  there 
be  a  more  powerful  and  perfuafive  argument 
to  repentance  than  the  love  of  him  zolio  hath 
loved  thee  to  the  death?  Look  on  the  cruel 
altar  of  the  crofs  on  which  he  was  made  a 
vidim  for  thofe  Hns  by  which  thou  art  pro- 
faning his  love  !  In  the  view  of  thofe  bit- 
ter  fufferings  he  endured  for  thee,  can'il 
thou  repeat  the  crimes  for  which  he  died  ! 
— Hear  the  voice  of  divine  mercy  calling  to 
thee  from  the  Heavens !  Liden  to  the  in- 
tertiling  voice  that  it  utters  from  the  crofs! 
Hear  the  cry  of  that  precious  blood  that 
flreams  from  his  hde,  and,  calling  from  the 
earth,  Jpeakeih  better  things  than  the  blood  of 
Abet !  Ah  !  what  motives  can  touch  thee 
if  thou  art  infenfibic  to  tbefe  ?  What  per- 
fuafions  can  reach  the  hardnefs  of  age  if 
thefe  are  ineffetlual  on  the  tendernefs  and 
fufceptibility  of  youth  !  The  whole  com- 
pafs  of  nature  cannot  furniiii  arguments  to 
duty,  or  admonitions  againft  fin  equally 
intereiling  and  ilrong. — vVheretoith  JiiaU  a 
young  man  cleanje  his  vjay?  By  taking  heed 
thereto  according  to  thy  loord. 


ReJlcBion  and  Sacred  Reading,        225 

Having  trefpafled  already  on  your  time, 
I  (hall  circumfcribe  within  a  narrow  com- 
pafs  the  fingle  refle8ion  with  which  1  de- 
iign  to  conclude  this  difcourfe. 

The  fubjeQ,  to  the  illuftration  of  which 
you  have  attended,  recommends  to  your 
moll  diligent  lludy,  and  your  moll  affettion- 
ate  efteem  this  facred  volume  from  which 
we  derive  truths  of  the  higheft  importance 
to  the  tranquility  of  our  own  breaits,  to  the 
peace  and  order  of  fociety,  to  the  dignity 
and  perfe£non  of  human  nature,  and  to 
our  eternal  happinefs.  I  fpeak  of  it  now 
as  containing  fomething  more  than  the  molt 
perfe6l  rule  of  virtue  that  was  ever  deli- 
vered to  the  world — I  fpeak  of  it  as  embrac- 
ing the  richell  treafures  of  our  knowledge, 
and  the  noblefl  fources  of  our  confolation. 
If  we  confider  the  dubious  and  diibordant 
fentiments  of  human  reafon  with  regard  to 
the  exiftence  and  perfections  of  the  deity — 
the  means  by  which  the  guilty  may  obtain 
the  forgivenefs  of  fins — the  law  of  our  duty 
— the  nature  and  the  certainly  of  another 
and  a  better  life,  how  precious  to  us  (hould 
be  this  fyftem  ofholy  infpiration  that  refolves 
thefe  afflitiing  doubts,  and  Iheds  a  divine 

Ff 


22-6  The  United  Influence  of 

and   fatisfaftory   evidence  on   fubje61s   the 
mofl  intereding  that  can  be  offered  to  the 
refleftions,    or  the  hopes  of  mankind  !     A 
fanatical  fpirit  of  impiety  under  the  abuf- 
ed  name   of  philofophy  has  rifen  up  per- 
verfely  and  prefumptuouily  to  call  in  quef- 
tion  truths  fo  facred  andconfolatory  to  mi- 
ferable  mortals.     Tert  and  falfe  wit,  igno- 
rant youth,  and,  in  an  age  in  which  no  ex- 
travagance is  ftrange,  even  coarfe  and  illi- 
terate debauchery,  venture  to  hold  in  deri- 
fion  the  belief,  the  hope,  and  confolation  of 
■the  bell  and  wifell  men  who  have  ever  lived. 
Chriilians !    in  proportion  to  the   madnefs 
and  folly  that  are  defperate  enough   to  fet 
■at  naupht  the  pozoer  and  the  wifdom  of  God^ 
fhould   be   your  adherence  to  that  divine 
word  in  which  they  are  fo  glorioufly   dif- 
.played.     How  blind  and  erring  would  be 
our  footfteps  through  life  if  they  were  not 
direded  by  divine  truth!  What  a  profound 
and  fearful   darknefs  would  reft  upon  the 
grave  if  we  were  not  enabled,  by  this  hea- 
venly light,  to  penetreite  beyond  it  to  a 
bleffed  immortality  !   Let  the  facred  fcrip- 
ture-s,  therefore,  be  the  fubjeft  of  our  daily 
and  pious  meditation.     Let  not  the  cavils 
of  ignorant  men,  nor  the  infults  of  fools 


Rcfi.Bion  and  Sacred  Readivg.      227 

tear  from  our  bofoms  thefe  precious  lights 
of  duty,  and  treafures  of  our  iiopes. 

If  you  feek  wifdom,  draw  it  from  thefe 
divine  fountains— if  you  cukivate  virtue, 
here  you  find  its  pcrfecl  law — if  you  would 
attain  to  mimortal  felicity  and  glory,  from 
them  you  imbibe  the  fpirit  of  Heaven. 

O  young  man !  take  heed  to  thy  ways 
according  to  his  holy  word.  Seek  not  for 
companions  vrhofe  example  will  encourage 
thee  in  vice— whole  iludy  it  is  to  prevent 
reflection,  or  to  furnilh  to  refleaion  only 
falfe  and  criminal  principles  to  defend  a 
criminal  praaice.  Let  not  thy  palTions 
govern  thee  in  this  ardent  and  in  confide  rate 
period  of  life,  when  they  require  to  be  kept 
under  a  continual  rein— let  not  pleafure  in- 
toxicate thee,  and  impofe  her  ilkifions  on 
thy  reafon  for  truth— hunt  not  after  tbofe 
pernicious  writers  whofe  objc6l  it  is  to  in- 
flame the  imagination  and  corrupt  the  heart. 
Take  heed  to  thy  awjy— paufe  in  thy  couric — 
deliberate— refleti.  Examine  and  weigh 
thy  principles.  Bring  thy  condu6l  to  the 
teit  of  the  divine  law\  Kever  wilt  thou  be 
prepared  for  the  pure  manfions  of  licavcii 


228         The  United  Influence  of  &c. 

till  thy  virtue,  or  to  fpeak  a  language  more 
conformable  to  the  gofpej,  till  thy  holinefs 
of  heart  and  life,  has  reached  the  perfetlion 
of  this  ftandard. 

O  God  !  in  thy  mercy  arrefl:  the  profliga- 
cy of  this  age  !  Make  thy  word  quick  and 
pov/erful !  Let  it  penetrate  with  deep  and 
effectual  convi6lion  the  confcience  of  fecure 
guilt,  and  deftroy  thofe  deceitful  maxims 
which  the  hearts  of  fmners  frame  only  to 
juilify  their  crimes  !  Let  it  triumph  over 
the  pernicious  principles  of  a  falfe  phi- 
lofophy,   the  oiispring  of  our  degenerate 


manners  I 


AMEN  1 


C      229      ] 

DISCOURSE    IX. 

THE    FORGIVENESS    OF    INJURIES. 

flRST  DICOURSE THE  NATURE  AND  EXTKNT  OF  THE   DUTY, 


•aH2IBW«~- 


LUKE     VI.    37. 

Forgive,  and  you  JJiall  he  forgiven. 

IF  you  love  tliein  that  love  you,  faith  the 
Saviour,  what  reward  have  you  ?"* 
There  is  a  natural  propenfity  in  the  human 
heart  to  requite  with  kindnels  the  favors  Vv'e 
have  received,  and  to  fympathize  with  the 
pleafures  and  the  pains  of  thofe  v^'ith  whom 
■we  are  connecled  by  friendfiiip  and  eReem. 
'•'  But  I  fay  unto  you,  love  your  enemies, 
blefs  them  that  curfe  youj  do  good  to  them 
that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  that  de- 
fpitefuUy  ufe  you  and  perfecute  you."t 
This  is  the  fublime  of  charity.     Pride,  re- 

*  Matt.  V.  46. 

f  Malt.  V.  44.     Luke  vi.  28. 


230         The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

fentment,  and  all  the  raofl  violent  emotions 
of  the  bread  are  ready  to  rife  againft  thofe 
v/ho  have  treated  us  with  injufiicej  cruelty, 
or  fcorn.  When  a  good  man  is  enabled  to 
forgive  the  malignity  of  his  enemies,  much 
more  will  he  be  difpoled  to  difcharge  all 
other  oihces  of  benevolence  and  humanity 
tov/ards  the  reft  of  mankind. 

This  virtue  has  juflly  been  faid  to  be  pe- 
culiar to  the  chriilian  fyllem.  For,  although 
there  are  illuilrious  examples  of  modera- 
tion, and  forbearance  among  the  great  men 
of  pagan  antiquity,  which  approach  to  the 
meeknefs  and  feif-denial  of  apoftles  and 
martyrs,  yet  are  they  rare ;  and  the  philo- 
fophers  in  general,  who  ftudied  to  cultivate 
this  virtue,  aimed  ratlier  at  the  contempt 
than  the  forgivenefs  of  injuries — at  a  fupe- 
riority  of  foul  that  foared  above  their  ene- 
mies, than  at  that  meeknefs  and  charity  that 
{loops  to  embrace  them  with  fraternal  af- 
fection. But  whatever  approaches  a  few 
of  the  difciples  of  reafon  have  made  towards 
a  doftrine  and  a  practice  fo  fublime  and 
holy,  fhe  had,  plainly,  not  authority  fuffi- 
cient  to  impofe  it  on  the  pride,  and  the 
palFions  of  mankind  as  an  univerfal  law  of 


\ 


The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries.         23 1 

duty.  This  was  the  office  of  a  divine  le- 
giflator — of  the  teacher fent from  God.  And, 
among  the  many  precepts  that  raife  his  gof- 
pel  far  above  all  other  fyftems  of  morals  or 
religion  that  have  appeared  in  the  world, 
that  of  the  forgivenefs  of  injuries,  holds  a 
diilinguidied  place.  He  has  enforced  it, 
likewife,  by  the  higheft  fan6lion — "^  For,  if 
ye  forgive  not  men  their  trefpaffes,  neither 
will  your  father  who  is  in  Heaven  forgive 
your  trefpafles."* 

The  revengeful  and  the  proud  are  apt 
to  regard  this  virtue  in  two  oppofite  lights, 
either  as  a  perfeftion  above  human  nature, 
or  as  a  meannefs  below  it — as  implying  an 
elevation  of  mind  and  felf-command  almoll 
divine,  or  manifefling  a  pufillanimity  un- 
worthy of  man.  Thefe  ideas,  I  truft,  will 
appear  in  the  progrefs  of  this  fubje6l,  to  be 
equally  groundlefs,  in  which  I  fiiall 

I.  Point  out  the  extent  of  the  duty — and 

II.  Illuftrate  its  excellence  and  reafona- 
blenefs  as  a  principle  of  condutl. 

*  Matt.  vl.  15. 


232         The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

I.  This  duty  confifts  in  loving  our  ene- 
mies— -in  refraining  from  every  piirpofe  of 
revenge  towards  them — in  readniefs  to  re- 
turn them  Idndnefs  for  injuftice — and,  final- 
ly, in  a  dirpofition  to  feek  every  prudent 
and  prafticable  li.ean  of  reconciliation  with 
them. 

1.  No  offence  can  cancel  the  original  ob- 
ligation that  lies  upon  all  men  to  love  one 
another.  Sprung  from  the  fame  fource — 
children  of  one  t  ather  who  is  in  heaven — 
partakers  of  a  common  nature — fellow  tra- 
vellers through  a  dangerous  and  painful 
pilgrimage — and  heirs  of  the  fame  immor- 
tal hopes,  man  is  connefted  with  man  by 
the  ftrongeft  and  the  dearell  ties.  Although 
your  enemy  has  broken  through  thofe  ties^ 
it  forms  no  warrant  tor  you  to  aihll  his  fol- 
ly or  his  madncfs  m  tearing  them,  afunder. 
Charity  requires  us  to  diflinguifii  between  a 
man  and  his  aclions :  and,  even  when  thefe 
are  moitcenfurable  and  oiienfive,  to  remem- 
ber that  the  oflender  is  ftili  a  brother.  This 
principle  is  the  vital  fpirit  of  the  chriilian 
religion  as  it  refpeds  our  intercourfe  with 
mankind,  and  is  the  great  cemicnt  of  the 
univerfai  family  of  God. 


The  Forgivcnefs  of  Injuries*         233 

2.  As  religion  requires   us    to   embrace 
our  enemy  with  benevolence  as  he  is  a  man, 
much   more  does  it  prohibit  towards  him 
every  purpofe  of  revenge.     Hardly  need  I 
fpeak  here  of  t  hole  cruel   paffions   that  dif- 
turb  iociety   by  the  mod  atrocious  a61s. — 
Hardly  need  I  call  to  mind  thofe  enormities 
that  (ometimes  iiow  from  pride,  from  envy, 
from  hatred  and  rage — thoie  furious  wrang- 
lings, < thofe  bloody  contefts — thofe  fliame- 
ful  means  of  private   vengeance   in  which, 
men,  giving  themfelves  up  to  the  violent  im- 
pulfe  of  their  feelings,   iniiead  of  calmly 
feeking  juilice  from  the  authoriied  tribunal  > 
of  their  country,   conftitute  themfelves  at 
once  judges  and  executioners  in  their  ov*'n 
caufe.     Againft  atrocities  of  this  kind  I  may 
appeal,  not  only  to  the  mild  and  benevolent 
fpirit  of  the  gofpel,  but  to  the  common  fen- 
timents  of  mankind. 


There  are  other  w^ays  lefs  flagrant,  and 
that  outrage  lefs  the  divine  fpirit  of  charity, 
by  which  a  revengeful  temper  m.ay  maniPeft 
itfelf.  Although  there  are  cafes  in  which 
even  the  meeknefs  of  chriRianity  will  permit 
a  good  man  to  demand  his  rights  in  the  (eats 
of  public  juilice ;  yet,  if  you  harrafs  your 
G  g 


234  ^^^^^  Forgivcnefi  of  Injuries,. 

brother  by  vexatious  fuits — Nay,  if  you  pro- 
secute your  moil  juft  and  equitable  claims 
againll  him  with  bitternefs  and  animofity — 
if  it  is  not  fufficient  for  you  to  obtain  redrcfs, 
tmlefs  you  can  alfo  make  him  the  vi61im  of 
the  laws,  you  violate  the  law  of  ChriiL 
This  holy  and  benevolent  lav/  requires 
meeknefs  and  moderation  in  all  our 
condutl  towards  men,  and  that  we  Ihouid 
rather  fuffer  wrong  in  matters  of  inferior 
moment  than  fcem  contentious,  or  too  ri- 
gidly exaft  even  our  undoubted  rights.  "  If 
thine  adverfary  fue  thee  at  the  law,  and  take 
av/ay  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak  alfo. 
If  he  frnite  thee  on  one  cheek  turn  to  him 
the  other.  If  he  compel  thee  to  go  with 
him  a  mile,  go  with  him  twain,"* 

Revenge  may  be  {ttn  in  the  focial  and 
eafy  hours  of  converfation,  in  acls  in  which 
it  is  hardly  fufpe6ted.  The  afperity  of 
your  expreh^ions    betrays  it — it  appears  in 

*Mat.  V.  39,  40,41.  Thcfe  are  not  abfolute  precepts. 
They  were  proverbial  fayings  t/mont;  the  Jews,  which  are  ne- 
ver to  be  interpreted  with  rigor.  They  were  intended  to  re- 
commend forbearance  to  men,  and  rather  to  fuffer  fmall  in- 
juries, and  yield  their  riglns  in  matters  of  inferior  concern, 
than  to  contend  with  the  obilinate  and  klhili. 


The  Forgiveiiefs  of  Injuries. 


''-yj 


Thofe  eternal  complaints  of  wrongs  intended 
to  excite  againii:  your  enemy  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  world — in  thofe  odious  or  ridi- 
culous piftures  M'hich  you  draw  of  his  vices 
or  his  foibles — m  your  reiidinefs  to  hear 
and  to  circulate  every  malicious  tale  againft 
him  which  calunniy  has  invented.  If  yoii 
do  not  actually  detraft  from  his  deferved 
praife,  do  you  hear  it  done  by  others,  with 
a  fecret  pleafure  ?  If  you  hear  his  worth 
approved,  are  you  ready  to  load  it  with  ex- 
ceptions, and  lufpicioRS  P  Or  do  you,  by  a 
certain  aiTetled  referve  and  caution  exprefs 
more  than  you  could  fay  ?  An  unholy  re- 
fentment  may  be  difcerned  in  the  moft 
guarded  modes  of  converfation.  It  may  be 
pinxeived  even  in  that  filence  with  v;hich  a 
prudent  enemy  thinks  to  veil  his  heart. 
Would  you  once  have  obferved,  with  re- 
gard to  that  perfon,  the  fame  caution  P  Is  it 
not  a  fenfe  of  injury  that  has  changed  in  your 
eftimation  his  good  qualities?  Or,  if  you 
cannot  but  Mill  difcern  them,  is  it  not  a  fe- 
cret refentment  that  palfies  your  tongue, 
and  feals  up  your  lips  ?  Ah  !  in  how  many 
forms  of  decency,  and  of  virtue  even,  may 
tills  vice  lie  concealed. 


£3^  The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries, 

3.  True  forgivenefs  implies  a  difpofition 
to  return  kindnefs  for  injury.     "  Blefs  ihofe 
who  curfe  you,  faith  the  meek  and  benevo- 
lent Saviour  of  men,  do  good  to  thofe  who 
hate  you."     That  fweetnefs  of  temper  that 
is  ready  to  pour  its   fecret  blefhng  on  the 
head  of  an  ollender,  is  a  principle  allied  to- 
Heaven,  and  peculiarly  fitied  to  prepare  the 
heart  to  enter,  and  enjoy  thofe  regions  of 
love.     It  tlows  from  that  divine  charity  that 
regards  all  men  as  the  children  of  our  hea- 
venly Father,  and  an  oliender  only  as  a  mif- 
taken  brother.     *•  If  thine  enemy  hunger, 
faith  the  apoitle,  feed  him,   if  he  thiril,  give 
him  drink  :  for,  in  fo  doing  thou  (halt  heap 
coals  of  fire  on  his  head."^^     Such  proofs  of 
your  goodnefs,   and   your  innocence  with 
regard  to  him,  will  melt  him  in  ingenuous 
forrow  for  his  precipitancy  and  injuiiice,  or 
pierce   him  with  deierved  compunftion  at 
the  view  of  your  fuperior  worth,     'i  his  was 
probably  the  meanmg  of  an  ancient  philo- 
fophert  v/ho,  when  he  w^as  afked  by  what 
means  a  man  might  be   revenged   on  his 
enemy,  anfwered  "  by  being  better  than  he." 

*  Rom.  xii.  20. 
f  Diogenes. 


Tht  Forgivenefs  oflujiiries.  237 

If  there  be  a  way  in  ^•v'hich  you  can  render 
Iiim  a  vaiuable  fervice  by  fpeaking  well  of 
the  cleferving  parts  of  his  charafter,  by 
drawing  a  difcrcet  veil  over  his  foibles,  by 
generoufly  producing  his  virtues  to  light,  or 
by  advancing  his  fortunes,  you  will  not  on- 
ly fulfil  an  elevated  duty  of  religion,  but 
probably  attach  him  to  you  hereaitcr  as  an 
ufeful  friend. 

This  precious  law  of  chriflianity  is  violat- 
ed, then,  whenever  you  negle61;  to  render 
him  thpfe  fervices  which  he  needs,  and  which 
are  in  your  power  to  bellow.     Is   there  a 
refpe£l;able  oilice  which  would  be  ufeful  to 
him,  and  which  he  is  better  qualified  than 
another  to  fill  ?  Is  there  a  profitable  em- 
ployment for  his  induflry  which  it  may  de- 
pend upon  your  influence  to  obtain?  Yet, 
do  you  exert  that   influence  againft   him 
only    becaufe   you   have   been    offended? 
Although     you    enter    into    no    intrigues, 
and    form     no     plans    againil    him,    yet, 
in  the  decifive  moment  of  accomplidiing  or 
defeating  his  hopes,  and  when  all  may  reft 
upon  you,   do  you  oppofe  him  ?  Nay,  al- 
though you  do  not   oppofe  him,   do  you, 
through  coldnefs  and  alienation  neglecl  him. 


238  The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries, 

and  let  him  fee  that  his  interefts  form  none 
of  your  concern  ?  I  fee,  the  v/orld  fees  in 
thele  a£ts,  the  proofs  of  a  refentful  and  un- 
forgiving fpirit. — Do  you  hear  his  charac- 
ter, more  precious  than  weahh  or  honor, 
defamed,  when  you  pofTefs  the  means  of 
vindicating  it  ?  Do  you  promote  the  cahmi- 
ny  ?  Do  you,  by  meaning  looks  and  gef- 
tures,  give  fignihcance  to  fufpicion  ?  Do 
you  even,  by  a  cruel  fi lence,  alhfl  the  de- 
iigns  of  his  enemies,  and  enjoy  the  (lander  ? 
Do  you  rejoice  in  his  unmerited  calamities  ? 
Or,  if  he  has  been  culpable,  do  you  tri- 
umph in  his  deteftion  and  fhame  ?  Alas  ! 
are  not  thefe  the  charafters  of  an  enemy  ? 
If  you  do  not  pity  his  misfortunes,  defend, 
where  you  can,  his  good  nam.e,  aid  his  law- 
ful hopes,  and  even  forget  that  he  has  in- 
jured you,  you  have  not  lincerely  forgiven 
him,  nor  fulfilled  the  facred  law  of  charity 
that  requires  us  to  render  good  for  evil. 

4.  In  the  lafl  place,  this  duty  implies  a 
difpohtion  to  feek  every  prudent  mean  of 
reconciliation  with  thofe  between  wliom  and 
us  have  arifen  any  caufcs  of  offence.  "  If 
thou  bring  thy  gift  to  the  altar,  and  there 


TJu  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries,  239 

remember  that  thy  brother  hath  aught  a- 
gaintl  thee,  leave  there  thy  gift  before  the 
akar,  and  go,  firit  be  reconciled  to  thy  bro- 
ther, and  then  come  and  offer  thy  gift."'^ 
No  worfliip  can  be  pure  that  is  flained  with 
angry  and  refentful  paffions — No  prayer 
can  find  admiffion  to  the  throne  of  grace, 
while  injuifice  pollutes  the  confcience,  or 
malice  rankles  in  the  bread.  A  fmcere 
chriflian,  who  poffeffcs  the  ornament  of  a 
meek  and  quiet  fpirit,  will  be  grieved  if,  at 
any  time,  he  has  given  even  involuntary  of- 
fence ;  and  if,  through  prejudice,  or  the 
furprife  of  pafllon,  he  hath,  by  word  or 
deed,  occafioned  an  injury  to  his  brother, 
he  will  be  folicitous  to  repair  the  wrong. 
He  will  not  difdain  to  make  thofe  neceffary 
explanations,  or  even  thofe  conceffions 
which  may  be  requifite  to  place  their  har- 
mony upon  its  firfl  footing,  and  to  cement 
it,  if  podible,  with  new  endearments.  Nay, 
where  a  brother  is  to  be  gained,  he  will  not 
too  rigoroufly  examine  his  ov/n  rights,  but 
will  difplay  a  certain  generofity  in  his  ad- 
vances, the  diclate  of  a  benevolent  heart, 
confcious  of  the  purell  intentions, 

*  Mat.  V.  23 — 24. 


240  The  Forgivenefs  oj  Injuries, 

This  fiibje6l  may  be  farther  ill  unrated  by 
pointing  out  the  faife  principles  upon  which 
reconciliations  often  proceed,  or  the  inilla- 
ken  fubflitutes  that  are  put  in  the  room  of 
the  fincere  forgivenefs  of  injuries. 

1.  Parties  at  variance  we  fometimes  fee 
brought  together  by  the  addrefs  and  ma- 
nagement of  common  friends.  To  their  in- 
ftances  at  length  they  yield.  But,  obferve 
with  what  reluctance  they  meet — what  mu- 
tual coldnefs  and  diftrull  they  betray  at  eve- 
ry (lep — how  many  explanations  muft  be 
inade — hov/  many  punctilios  mufl  be  adjuft- 
ed — how  many  compromifes  mull  be  at- 
tempted, in  order  to  fave  a  falfe  fentiment 
of  honqr  ?  Do  you  believe  that  you  have 
fulfilled  the  celellial  law  of  charity  by  a  re- 
conciliation that  has  proceeded  upon  thefe 
^rounds  ?  No — even  the  world  is  not  de- 
ceived. It  fees  that  you  are  not  fs-iends.  It 
perceives  in  your  converfation,  in  your  con- 
duft,  in  your  v;hole  manner,  the  coldnefs  of 
your  hearts. 

2.  Men  fometimes  mlRake  the  mere  fub- 
fiding  of  the  palhons,  which  is  the  efifecl  of 
time,  for  the  forgivenefs  of  injuries  which  is 


The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries,         241 

the  fruit  of  charity.  The  edge  of  their  re- 
fentments  is  bkmted,  and  they  fink  down  by 
degrees,  and  ahnoft  without  defign,  into  the 
ordinary  offices  of  good  neighborhood. — 
In  the  various  and  capricious  changes  of 
the  world,  an  accidental  concurrence  of  in- 
terells  fometimes  re-unites  thofe  w^hom  dif- 
ference of  intereft  had  divided.  But  thefe 
principles  have  nothing  in  them  in  common 
with  the  generous  warmth  and  kindnefs  of 
the  chriftian  temper.  The  fpirit  of  the 
blefied  Jeias  regards  a  forgiven  enemy  like 
a  brother  reconciled  :  and  an  enemy  who 
refufes  to  be  reconciled  it  regards  with  thofe 
fentunents  of  meeknefs  and  benediftion  that 
can  flow  only  from  a  heart  touched  and 
animated  with  the  love  of  God. 

3.  Not  infrequently,  a  cold  return  to  the 
external  civilities  offocietyis  miftaken  for 
the  duty  I  am  recommending,  while  you 
ftili  cherifn  a  keen  remembrance  of  injuries 
you  have  received. — I  forgive  him,  you  fay, 
but  I  do  not  forget.  He  has  no  reajon  hereof'-- 
ter  to  rely  on  viy  friendfiip.  Ah  !  this  hint 
is  too  hgnificant.  We  diicern  in  it  a  ran- 
kled and  wounded  mind.  Does  the  mild 
temper  of  the  gofpel  thus  fwell  the  breafl 
H  h 


242         The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries, 

with  a  proud  referitment  ?  No — it  tends 
to  unite  the  hearts  of  men  by  the  fweet  and 
attra6tive  fynipathies  of  charity,  and  not 
merely  to  connect  their  perfons  by  the  loofe 
and  vulgar  ties  of  ordinary  afibciation. 
The  civiUties  praftifed  by  a  good  man  are 
the  fincere  exprelTions  of  a  benevolent 
mind,  not  a  hypocritical  mafk  intended  to 
veil  from  the  v/orld  pafiions  which  he  is 
afhamed  to  avow.  Confcious  that  God  in- 
fpetts  his  heart,  he  f ludi^s  not  to  cover  dif- 
pofitions  there  which  he  is  not  v/illing  to 
expofe  to  the  pure  and  holy  light  of  heaven, 
and  which  Vv'iil  not  aifimilate  him  to  its 
blefied  fociety. 

4.  Prudence  is  frequently  fubftituted  for 
charity.  Men  fmother  their  refentments 
merely  to  prevent  the  derangement  which 
they  v/ould  produce  in  the  circle  of  their 
fociety,  or  to  efcape  the  uneafinefs  that 
muft  arife  to  themfelves  from  a  perpetual 
courfe  of  hoftilities. 

5.  But  the  lad  fubftitute  which  I  fliall 
mention,  for  the  forgivenefs  is  the  contempt 
of  injuries. — Well  may  innocence  feel  its 
fuperiority  to  the  indifcretion  of  unfriendly 


The  Forgrcencfs  of  Lyurics.         243 

tongues,  and  the  malignity  of  evil  inten- 
tions. And  the  calm  dignity  of  virtue  is 
confident  with  the  gentlenefs  and  meeknefs 
that  become  a  chniiian.  But  contempt, 
involving,  as  it  too  often  does,  the  oifender 
with  the  offence,  is  an  unholy  temper.  It 
indicates  a  pride,  and  haughtinefs  of  mind 
incompatible,  equally  with  the  charity,  and 
the  humiliLy  of  the  gofpel.  Vice,  when  con- 
fidered  as  offering  its  temptations  to  us, 
may,  by  a  noble  mind,  be  regarded  with 
contempt — when  {cen.  in  the  conduft  of 
others,  it  ought  rather,  by  a  good  man,  to 
be  beheld  with  pity. 

Referving  for  another  difcourfe  the  illuf- 
tration  of  the  excellence  and  reafonablenefs 
of  this  difpofition  as  a  general  principle  of 
conduft,  I  ihall  conclude  the  prefent  with 
a  fmgie  and  brief  refle6lion. 

The  forgivenefs  of  injuries  is  inculcated 
throughout  the  difcourfes  of  our  bleffed 
Lord  and  his  apohles  with  peculiar  frequen- 
cy and  earneftnef>.  For,  it  is  not  only  the 
bigheil  exercife  of  that  charity  which  they 
lay  at  the  foundation  of  all  our  duties  to 
mankind;  but  it  is  abfolutcly  neceiTary  to 


244        ^^'^^  Forgivenefs  of  Li juries, 

the  peace  of  the  world,  to  exthiguifli,  or 
prevent  the  action  of  thofe  innumerable 
caufes  of  dilTention  that  are  continually 
fpringingup  in  human  fociety.  Did  every 
man  conceive  himfelf  entitled  to  avenge  his 

o 

own  quarrels  it  would  convert  the  world 
into  a  theatre  of  violence  and  blood.  In 
order  to  prevent  this  fatal  effe61:j  the  wife, 
the  moderate,  and  the  good  are  called,  not 
only  to  abftain  from  doing  injury,  but  daily 
to  cover  with  the  mantle  of  forgivenefs  the 
injuries  that  are  offered  to  them.  Injuftice, 
fraud,  envy,  malice,  wrath,  whifpering,  tat- 
tling, flander  would  keep  the  world  in  a  per- 
petual flame,  and  fix  our  own  peace  forever 
on  the  rack,  were  not  their  influence  counter- 
acted by  this  exalted  principle  of  charity. 
But,  when  we  confider,  on  one  hand,  the 
force  of  the  paffions,  and,  on  the  other,  the 
infirmity  of  the  mind,  may  we  not  exclaim 
with  the  apoille,  on  a  different  occafion, 
«'  who  is  fuflicient  for  thefe  things  ?"  To 
forgive  like  a  chriflian  feems  to  require  both 
a  greatnefs  and  humility  of  mind,  a  mceknefs 
and  equanimity  of  temper  almoft  beyond 
the  prefent  frail  condition  of  human  nature. 
But,  we  may  reply,  with  the  fame  apoftle, 
"  I  can  do  all  things  through  Chrili  who 


The  Forgiven ffs  of  Ip juries.         245 

fircnglheneth  me."  Let  this  high  and  ardu- 
ous duty,  therefore,  be  the  fubje8;  o{  our 
fervent  and  continual  petitions  at  the  throne 
of  t;race.  The  grreat  Teacher  of  the  church 
hath  incorporated  it  in  that  excellent  and 
compreheniive  prayer  which  he  hath  left  to 
be  the  perpetual  rule  of  our  devotions. 
Frequently,  indeed,  it  requires  all  the  ener* 
gy  of  prayer,  to  calm  and  fubdue  the  tern- 
pefl  of  our  palTions — It  requires  that  pro- 
found fenfe  of  the  divine  prcfence  which  is 
cultivated  in  prayer  to  impofe  upon  their 
fury  an  effectual  curb — It  requires  all  the 
humility  of  penitents  proftrate  at  the  foot- 
llool  of  mercy  to  reprefs  in  the  heart  that 
obdurate  and  unhallowed  pride  which  is  the 
chief  fupport  of  our  unforgiving  refent- 
ments. 

Finally,  this  duty  forms  one  of  the 
beft  teils  of  the  heart.  Men  may  m.ore  ca- 
fdy  deceive  themfelves  with  regard  to  the 
genera.1  duties  v/hich  tliey  ow'e  either  to 
God,  or  to  mankind.  But  if  you  can  bear 
injuries  with  patience — if  you  can  maintain  a 
mild  and  amiable  ferenity  under  reproach 
and  calumny — if  you  can  forgive  offences 
moft   deliberately   committed  againft  you. 


-  246         Tkc  Forgivencfs  of  Injuries. 

and  return  kindnefs  for  iojuftice,  and  hlef- 
Jing  Jor  railing,  it  is  the  highell  evidence 
oF  the  complete  fubjedion  of  the  pafhons  to 
the  government  of  rcafon,  and  of  the  do- 
minion of  that  principle  of  divine  love  in 
the  heart  which  is  the  true  foundation,  and 
the  animating  fpirit  of  every  duty. — I  do 
not  afl^  if  you  are  w^ithout  pallions  ?  nor 
it  they  are  not  naturally  quick  and  ilrong  ? 
Thefe  may  be  found  in  the  heft  and  nobleft 
charafters — but,  if  the  power  of  religion 
has  been  able  to  fubdue  them,  and  to  hold 
them  under  its  foft  and  gentle  rein?  If,  like 
Chrift  on  the  agitated  and  (lormy  lake,  it 
has  been  able  to  calm  them,  and  to  fay  to 
the  winds  and  the  waves,  peace  !  be  (liII  ! — 
This  IS  a  folid  ground  on  which  you  may 
refl  your  hopes  before  the  throne  of  eternal 
mercy  *'  for,  if  you  forgive  men  their  tref- 
paffes,  your  heavenly  Father  will  alfo  for- 
give you." 

Teach  us,  O  Lord  !  to  undenland,  and 
enable  us  to  fulfil  this  fublime  duty,  the  or- 
nament  of  the  gofpcl,  the   perfetlion    of 


man  ! 


AMEN  ! 


[    247    ] 
DISCOURSE    X. 

THE    rORGIVENESS    OF    INJURIES. 

SECOND  DICOURSE THE   EXCELLENCE  AND  REASONABLENESS 

OF  THIS  DUTY. 


Luke  vi.  o^-j. 
Forgive,  andyoujiiall  be  forgiven, 

THE  law  of  forgivenefs  is  oppofed  hy 
fome  of  the  ftrongcfl  pafiions,  and  the 
moft  dangerous  prejudices  of  the  human 
heart.  1  he  vindictive  paiTions  are  prone 
to  precipitate  themfelves  on  revenge,  and 
imagine  a  barbarous  pleafure  in  gratifying 
this  cruel  prcpenhty — prejudice  is  apt  to 
confound  patience  with  pufillanimity,  and 
to  fuppofe  that  mildnefs  of  temper  is  calcu- 
lated only  to  forfeit  a  certain  reputation 
with  the  world.  Pride  fears  to  lofe,  by 
kindnefs  and  condefcenfion,  that  imagina- 
ry confequcncc  which  it  claims  for  itfelf. 
My  enemies  huve  ojf ended  vie.     It  belongs  to 


248         The  Forgivehefs  of  Injuries. 

the  7'efpeB  which  I  owe  myfelf  to  make  them 
feel  the  effeds  oj  their  temerity.  But  pride  is 
an  inflated  uioniler,  ever  blind  to  its  ov/n 
true  interefts.  More  real  honor,  and  more 
folid  happinefs  will  be  found  from  forgiv- 
ing than  avenging  injuries. 

Having  already  confidered  the  requifu 
tions,  and  the  extent  of  this  law,  I  purpofe, 
in  the  prefent  difcourfe,  to  illuFirate  its  ex- 
cellence, and  reafonablenefs  as  a  principle 
of  condu6l — It  implies  a  difpohtion  gene- 
rous and  noble  in  itfelf,  and  fitted  to  attraft 
refpeci  from  the  world — It  tends  to  pro- 
mote our  inward  tranquillity  and  peace — ■- 
And,  finally,  it  alTimilates  man  to  his  Crea- 
tor, whofe  moil  glorious  and  interefiing  at- 
tribute is  mercy. — After  taking  a  fhort  re- 
view of  thefe  feveral  topics,  I  fnali  flrengthen 
the  general  argument  to  this  duty,  by  point- 
ing out  the  caufes  that  mod  commonly  cre- 
ate difientions  in  fociety,  and  fhewing  their 
infnfficiency  to  juftify  the  lading  and  un- 
ehriftian  rei'entments  v/hich  too  often  grow 
out  of  them. 

I.  In  the  firll  place,  it  implies  a  difpofi- 
tion  generous  and  noble  in  itfeif,  and  fitted 
to  attract  refpe6l  from  the  world. 


The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries.  2  49 

All  blind  and  violent  movements  of  the 
paffions  are  unworthy  of  our  nature.     The 
true  glory  of  a  rational  mind   is  to  fubmit 
all  its  aftions  to  the  calm  and  temperate  go- 
vernment of  reafon.     There  is  a  dignity  in 
being   able  to  command  our  feelings,  and 
our  conduft  in  the   moft  critical  fituations, 
which  is  calculated  equally  to  engage  the 
efteem  of  others,  and  to  gain  the  approba- 
tion   of  our  own  hearts. — Where  indeed, 
do  we  find  the  moft  vindictive  difpofitions  ? 
Is  it  not  commonly  in  thofe  who  are  mofi: 
feeble  both  in  body  and  in  mind  ?  But,  in 
proportion  as  the  foul   is  raifed  by  noble 
and  fublime  fentiments,  is  confcious  of  a  true 
courage,  and  can  refl  upon  itfelf,  the  lefs  is 
it  prone  to  this  bafe  and  degrading  vice. — 
The  pufiilanimous  are  revengeful  as  well 
as  cruel. 

Thofe  who  admire,  without  choice,  the 
manners  of  the  world  have  been  pleafed  to 
fay  that  the  mildnefs  and  forbearance  of 
chriflian  charity  is  calculated  to  invite  in- 
juries ;  and,  being,  in  many  inftances,  con- 
trary to  the  cftablilhed  maxims  of  honor, 
muft  only  lead  to  difgrace.  Let  us  examine 
thefe  afl'ertions.     I  do  not  advocate  a  weak 

li 


jr.50  3  he  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 


good-nature,  void  of  fcnfibility  and  energy 
of  charatler — but,  if  prudence,  and  propri- 
ety of  manners  be  united  to  a  benevolence 
of  temper  ever  ready  to  do  good — and  a 
gentlenefs  alv/ays  cautious  of  giving  offence, 
rarely  will  we  fee  examples  of  that  innate 
malignity  that  is  difpofed  to   purfue  worth 
of  this  kind  with  injuftice,  or  to  vilify  it  by 
infult.     Even  vicious  men  look  with  refpeft 
on    goodnefs   fupported  v;ith  dignity.     If, 
here   and   there,    fuch   an    atrocious    fpirit 
fliould  be  found,  his  injuiiice  will  be  return- 
ed upon  his  own  head  by  the  general  indig- 
nation of  ibciety.     Befides,  religion,  in  cales 
of  preffmg  and  immediate   aggrefhon,  for- 
bids not  the  facred   rights   of  felf-defence. 
And,  in  every  cafe,  it  permits  and  requires 
a  good  man  to  place  himfelf  under  the  guar- 
dian power  of  the  laws  of  his  country,  both 
for   proteftion,  and   for  reparation.     The 
law  is  v/ithout  paffions.     And  the  repara- 
tion of  wrongs,  which  is  due  to  the  weal  of 
fociety,  has  nothing  in  it  in  common  with 
the  revenging  of  injuries. 

V,  ith  regard  to  tliol'e  falfe  and  frivolous 
maxims  of  honor,  invented  in  barbarous 
times,  and  adopted  by  frivolous  and  barba.- 


The  torgivcacfs  cf  Lijuries.  25.1 

rous  men  who  rarely  have  any  other  claim 
to  merit,  more  real  glorv  and  more  public 
eileem  will  ariie  iVom  being  fupcnor  to 
them,  than  from  complying  with  them. — 
We  fee  them  daily  <^oino  into  difufe  as  ^o- 
ciety  progrelies  in  relinement.  That  affec- 
tation oi'  meeknels,  indeed,  that  fprings 
from  pufiilanimity  is  a  charaQer  that  de- 
ferves  to  be  dc^fpifed.  And  much  of  the  re- 
proach tiiat  has  been  poured  upon  thofe, 
v/ho,  in  the  i'iile  of  the  world,  have  not  pro- 
perly rcjented  wjurics,  has  arifen  from  their 
own  weak  and  unequal  conducl;.  Rafn  e- 
nough,  perhaps,  to  give  olfence,  it  feems  to 
be  a  pretended  principle  that  rellrains  them 
from  anfwering  for  it.  True  piety  is  unof- 
fending, as  v;ell  as  averfe  from  contentions. 
And  then,  if,  on  other  ocean ons  permitted 
and  approved  by  religion,  as  in  defending 
the  innocent,  in  protecting  the  heiplefs,  in 
fulfilling  a  hazardous  duty,  a  proper  ardor" 
and  firnmers  of  mind  have  been  difplayed, 
no  reproach  can  be  incurred  for  atting  on 
chriiiian  principlea,  and  being  fuperior  to 
an  unreafonable  cufiom.  It  v;as  an  excel- 
lent reply  made  by  a  brave  ofiicer  to  one 
who  had  challenged  him  to  fingle  combat : 
"  You  knovr  I  am  not  afr-jid  to  die — I  am 


2j2  Thz  For^ivenefs  of  Lyuries. 

afraid  only  to  fm.  If  you  wifli  to  bring  our 
perfonal  courage  to  the  proof,  I  invite  you 
to  fliew,  in  the  approaching  battle,  which 
of  us  will  lead  our  troops  with  the  greateft 
bravery  to  the  charge."  And  many  w^eak 
minds  there  are  who  are  capable  of  putting 
their  lives  to  hazard  in  a  fudden  impuHc  of 
rage,  or  urged  by  the  fear  of  ihame,  who 
are  not  able  to  encounter  great  and  real 
dangers  with  coolnefs  and  intrepidity  at  the 
call  of  duty.  The  principles  of  a  pretend- 
ed honor  are  difgraced  by  their  origin  ;  and 
they  are  difgraced  by  the  vain,  the  ignorant, 
and  impetuous  men  vvho  aft  upon  them. — 
Where,  indeed,  are  thofe  doughty  comuats 
of  honor  moll  frequently  found  ?  Is  it  not  at 
the  end  of  bacchanalian  debauches  in  vdiich 
men  have  given  up,  not  only  the  true  glory, 
but  almoll  the  character  of  human  nature? 
Is  it  not  at  bell  in  thofe  moments  of  blind  in- 
temperate pallion  in  which  man  is  no  longer 
rational  ?  Real  honor  lies  in  tlie  command 
of  our  palTions. 

Thefe  are  not  profelhonal  declaimings, 
and  the  narrow  rules  of  a  religious  fpirit  at 
variance  with  human  nature,  and  the  com- 
mon fentiraents  ofmanliind.     Ifthecelef- 


Ths  Fuvgiccncfs  oj  hijiaics.   .       253 

tial  purity  of  the  gofpel  of  peace — if  the 
divine  majclly  of  truth  can  receive  fupport 
from  earth,  they  wili  find  it  in  the  opinionj 
and  the  conducl  of  the  wifeib  and  the  bra- 
vefc  men  of  antiquity.  That  illLiilfious 
patriot  Vvdio  was  the  gh3ry  of  the  Roman 
Senate,  and  whofe  integrity  and  virtue 
were  proverbial  in  Rome*-  had  it  for  a 
maxim  that  '•  ue  ought  to  pardon  the  Ja-alts 
of  every  other  man,  but  •never  our  own!'  A 
philolopher,t  wlio  afterwards  laid  doA*/n 
his  life  with  dignity,  in  confequence  of  a 
mod  unjuil  perfecution,  ha:i  pronounced 
that  "  revenge  is  inhuman,  however  it  be 
authorifed  by  a  pernicious  cu (torn.  On 
the  other  hand,  fays  he,  how  refpeftable  is 
a  man  who  is  incapable  o\  being  penetra- 
ted by  any  Vv'eapon,  or  being  hurt  by  iniu- 
ry  or  reproach  !"  When  a  king  of  Sparta;!; 
oncefaid  "  it  is  the  office  of  a  good  prince 
to  confer  favors  on  liis  friends,  and  indict 
punifliments  on  his  enem.ies" — ••'  how  much 
better  v;ould  it  be,  replied  Socrates,  to  do 
good  to  your  friends,  and  to  m.ake  friends 
of  your  enemies  ?''  One  of  the  greatefl,  and 

*  The  elder  Cuto. 
f  Seneca. 

%  Clecmenes. 


254         ^^^^  Forgivencfs  of  Injuries, 

certainly  the  moll  phiiofophlc.  of  the  Ro- 
man emperors'^  has  exprclicd  thefe  juft  and 
noble  fentiments — '•  does  any  one  treat  me 
with  contumely  or  contempt  ?  Be  the  Gif- 
e;ra<!e  his  own — my  iludy  ihall  ever  be  to 
do  nothing  that  defervcs  to  be  dcfpifed. 
*Does  he  clicnfh  againil  me  an  unjuifc  ha- 
tred ?  It  is  his  fault,  it  (hall  be  always  my 
endeavour  to  be  ('■ood,  g-entle,  humane,  and 
beneficent,  and  to  Ihew  him  no  other  exam- 
ples but  thofe  of  moderation  and  patience." 
Thus  do  the  maxims  and  the  conduct  of 
thefe  great  men,  refute  the  falfe  notions 
fabricated  by  revenge  and  pride.  Although 
it  is  beyond  the  fphere  of  ordinary  chrif- 
tians  to  emulate  philolopliers,  and  heroes 
in  the  fame  of  their  writings,  or  the  glory 
of  their  atchievements,  yet  is  it  in  the  pow- 
er of  the  humbleit  believer  in  Chriil  to 
rival,  and  even  to  furpafs  them  in  the  ad- 
mirable fpirit  of  their  morals. 

As  philofophy  has  recoram.ended,  fo  the 
univerfui  and  unbialfed  voice  of  hiilory 
ferves  to  confirm  thefe  high  and  noble  prin- 
ciples, and  to  add  force  to  the  precepts  of 

*  Marcus  Antoninus. 


The  Forgivencfs  of  Injuries.         255 

the  gofpel  itfelf.  It  every  where  records 
the  praifes  of  thofe  fublime  fpirits  who,  hav- 
ing their  enemies  in  their  power,  and  being 
able  to  criifli  them  in  a  moment,  have 
quenched  all  their  refentments  againft  them, 
and  even  loaded  them  with  favours.  It 
covers  with  infamy,  and  holds  up  to  the  exe- 
cration of  pofterity  thofe  ferocious  and  vin- 
diftive  monfters  who  would  expiate  wdth 
blood,  or  purfue  with  plunder,  oppref- 
lion,and  chains  the  llighteil:  offences  againd 
their  pride.  Thefe  are  demons  fent  forth 
to  vex  the  peace  of  the  world — thofe  are 
the  gods  of  the  earth,  and  benefatlors  of 
mankind.  All  ages  vie  in  extolling  their 
glory,  and  pronounce  their  names  with  in- 
creafing  admiration. 

Our  own  hearts  on  this  fubjctl,  warmly 
confirm  the  verdi6l  of  hiftory.  With  what 
exquifite  emotions  we  behold  David  in  the 
tent  of  Saul  !"^  When  he  could,  in  one 
moment,  have  taken  ample  vengeance  on 
that  fufpicioiis  tyrant  for  all  the  perfecu- 
tions  he  endured  from  him,  and,  by  the 
fame  blow  have   placed  himf^lf  upon  his 

*  I.  Samuel  xxvi. 


256         '^he  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

throne  fee  him  generoufly  fpare  his  life, 
and  reilrain  the  ardor  of  his  indignant  fol- 
lowers who  prefTed  to  avenge  their  mailer ! 
Not  lefs  amiable  does  he  appear  when,  after 
the  death  of  his  cruel  enemy,  he  enquires 
"  if  there  yet  remain  any  branch  of  the 
houfe  of  Saul,  that  he  may  do  him  good."'^* 
On  the  other  hand,  had  he  (lained  his  hands 
Avith  the  blood  even  of  that  faithlefs  prince 
— had  he  afterwards  remembered  his  crimes 
to  retaliate  them  on  his  pofterity,  David^ 
now  the  pride  of  hiflory  and  of  religion, 
would  have  become  the  obje6l  of  our  de- 
tedation. — Thus  do  the  native  fentiments 
of  the  human  heart  contradift  thofe  cruel 
maxims  of  revenge  fo  often  in  the  mouths 
of  m.en.  They  attePc  the  elevation  and 
grandeur  of  thofe  principles  of  forgivenefs 
and  charity  inculcated  in  the  gofpel. 

2.  The  meek  ancl  forgiving  fpirit  of  a 
chrillian  tends,  in  the  next  place,  to  pro- 
mote his  inward  tranquility  and  peace. 

The  heart  ruffled  and  ag-ilatcd  with  tur- 
bulent  and  furious  paflions  cannot  be  happy. 

*   II.  Samuel  Ix. 


The  Forgivtncfs  of  Injuries,         257 

Happinefs  dwells  only  with  a  ferene  mind, 
and  a  benevolent  temper.  Gloomy  pro- 
jefts  of  revenge  difquiet,  and  fill  it  with 
bitternefs.  Corroded  by  chagrin,  inflamed 
by  rage,  or  devoured  by  bale  and  fecret 
plans  of  treachery  it  is  equally  a  flranger 
to  peace. — Is  the  objecl  of  your  enmity 
raifcd  above  you  fo,  that  the  fliafts  of  your 
malice  cannot  reach  him  ?  What  vexation 
gnaws,  what  impotent  fury  fwells  the  bo- 
fom  ! — Are  your  bell  concerted  fchcmes  of 
vengeance  frull  rated  by  fome  nnforefeen 
accident  ?  Or  are  they,  by  the  wifdom  and 
prudence  of  your  adverfary,  turned  upon 
your  own  head?  What  confuhon  and 
fliame  ! — But  you  have  been  fuccefsful — 
you  have  humbled  him  by  difgrace — you 
have  crulhed  him  by  your  power — you 
have  made  him  feel  the  weig-ht  of  your  re- 
fentment — are  thefe  gratifications  that,  in 
a  calm  hour,  you  can  review  with  fatisfac- 
tion  ?  No — when  the  paffions  fubfide,  and 
reafon  refumes  its  empire,  the  work  of  ven- 
geance always  affords  food  for  painful  re- 
flettion.  The  maxim  that  revenge  is  fweet 
is  a  maxim  only  of  the  pafhons — It  is  falfe. 
If,  in  the  dark  moment  of  accompliihing  its 
guilty  purpofe  a  diabolical  pleafure  gleams 

K  k 


25^         The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

acrofs  the  mind,   the  tranGent   flafli,  leaved 
the  cloud  that  covers  it  afterwards  only  the 
more  black   and   heavy.     Hardly   could  a 
man  invent  for  his   enemy  a  punilhment 
more  cruel   than  that  with   which  revenge 
torments  himfelf.      It  is  a   cockatrice  that 
ilings    the    bofom   that  has   given    it  life. 
Vexed  by  anxious  fufpicions,  toiled  by  im- 
patient dell  res,  the  hated  image  of  his  ene- 
my is  continually  before  his  eyes — it  haunts 
him  in  the  day,   and   defpoils  of  their  reft 
even  the  hours  allotted  to  repofe. — See  the 
refllefs   movements,  the  convulfed  bofom, 
the   inflamed   countenance,  the    pale    and 
quivering  lips,  the  dark  and  rancorous  vif- 
age  of  revenge,   and  fay   if  happinefs    can 
refide  there.     Above  all,  v;hen  vengeance 
thirds   to    drink  the  blood  of  its    enemy, 
what  direful  ftorms,  what  avenging  furies 
does  it  excite  in  the  breaft,  after  this  horrid 
appetite   is   fated  !    Then    the  fpeftres   of 
murder  (lioot  before   the  terrified  fancy — 
then  confcience  thunders  at  the  bottom  of 
the  foul.     Heaven  above  appears  in  wrath, 
and  Hell  beneath   fcems  to  augment  her 
flames,  and  expand  her  jaws  to  receive  to  a 
more  fearful  doom  than  that  of  other  iin- 


Tfie  Forgvueriffs  of  Injur ies.         259. 

Tiers,  the  wretch  vvho  dcfcends  into  it  all 
covered  with  his  brother's  blood. 

If  your  companion,  or  your  friend  falls 
by  the  murderous  weapon  or  lionor,  that 
proliituted  name  for  pride  and  vengeance, 
does  a   lefs  degree    of  mifery   follow  this 
deed  ?  Will  not  the  rank   crime   of  blood 
llili  harrow  up  the  recolle6lion?   Will  not 
the  broken  ties  of  friendihip  (lill  drop  with 
gore  before  the  melancholy   and   troubled 
mind  ?  After  humanity  has  recovered  from 
the  frenzy  of  palhon,  can  it  look   on   the 
deep   aflliftion    of  bereaved  parents — per- 
haps, on  the  anguiih  of  a  frantic  wife,  and 
the  cries  and  tears  of  helplefs   orphans  call- 
ing for  their  loll  father,  and   not  execrate 
the  impious  deed  ?    W^ill   not  the  profound 
griefs,  and  the  heavy  curfe  of  fo  many  dif- 
trafted  mourners  light  upon  the  foul  like  a 
peililential  breath,and  blail  all  the  remain- 
ing years  of  life  i^ — Ah!  revenge,  liowever 
it  may  be  difguifcd,  or  fantlioned  by  the 
guilty  manners   of  the  world,  is  the   cruel 
poifoner  of  human  happinefs.     It    is  daily 
filling  the  earth  with  crimes,  and  is  the  pa- 
rent ofhr-iFthe  miferies  that  sHliQ  mankind. 


26o        The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  gentle  fpirit  of 
forgivenefs,  which  is  the  perfection  oi  chari- 
ty, preferves  a  conPtant  ferenity  in   the  foul, 
and  faves  it  from  thofe  rude  ten. pells   that 
would  necelfarily  deUroy  its  peace.     It  im- 
parts to  the  mind  the  high  conlcioufncfs  of 
approaching  the   ("ummit   of  virtue  by   the 
command  v/hich  it  holds  over  all  the  paf- 
fions.     By  quenching  the  firll  [parks  oi  di- 
vifion  and  diforder,  it   becomes  one  of  the 
moil   powerful  principles  of  focial  union 
and  happinefs.      Where  it  reigns,  a  peace 
and  order  reigns  refembling  Heaven,  "  Be- 
hold how  good,  and  how  pleafant  it  is  for 
brethren  to  dwell  together  in  unity.     It  is 
as  the  dew  of  Hermon  ;  as  tlie  dew  that 
defcended  upon  the  mountains  of  Zion ; 
for  there  the  Lord  commanded  the  bleihng, 
even  life  forevermore."*     This  exalted  fpi- 
rit of  charity  is  connefted  with  the  bell  and 
happieft    affeftions    of  the   human   heart. 
May,  afcending  far  above  human  nature,  it 
derives  its  origm  from  that  eternal  fount  in 
of  love  which  is  the  fource,  and  the   center 
of  union  among  all  intelligent  beings.     The 


The  Forgivcncfs  of  Injuries.         261 

t<!mper  of  forgivenefs  towards  our.  enemies 
exercifed  from  the  delightful  condraints  of 
divine  love,  as  well  as  from  the  confidera- 
tion  ofthofe  dear  and  tender  claims  which 
mankind  have  upon  us,  by  being  partakers 
of  the  fame  nature,  and  heirs  of  the  lame 
frailties  with  ouffelves,  yields  the^  heart  a 
perpetual  fpring  of  the  mod  pure  and  tran- 
quil fa  tis  fad  ions.  Its  pleafures  are  an  in- 
finite overbalance  for  all  the  facriiices 
which  fo  arduous  a  duty  requires.  And  it 
is  perhaps,  the  beR  culture  by  which  to  pre- 
pare the  foul  for  that  perfeft  love,  and  thofe 
immortal  unions  that  ftiall  take  place  in  the 
celedial  (late. 

q.  The  hicrhed  recommendation  of  tins 
evangelical  difpofition  is,  that  it  affimilates 
man  to  that  hril  and  perfctl  Being  whofe 
mod  glorious  attribute  is  mercy.  '•  Love 
your  enemies,  faith  the  bleffed  Saviour,  and 
do  good  to  them  that  hate  you,  that  you 
may  be  the  children  of  your  Father  who  is 
in  Heaven  ;  for  he  maketh  his  fun  to  rife  on 
the  evil  and  on  the  good,  and  fendeth  rain  on 
the  jud,  and  on  the  unjuft."*     The  univer- 

*  Matthew  v.  45. 


262  The  Fof'^ivenefs  of  Injuries. 

fal  goodnefs  of  tlie  Creator  is  the  moft  fub- 
lime  example  for  the  imitation  of  man. 
Every  moment  he  is  ouended  by  human 
folHes  and  crimes ;  yet,  every  moment,  he 
Ihowers  on  the  orienders  nothing  but  blel- 
fmos.  The  rain  fertihzes  their  heids — the 
fun  brings  the  fruits  of  the  earth  to  maturi- 
ty for  their  ufe.  To  guiky  man  every  fun 
that  rifcs  upon  him  in  peace,  and  even  eve- 
ry herb  that  fprings  for  his  benefit  or  plea- 
fure  Ihould  be  a  monitor  to  remind  him  of 
that  benignity  and  forbearance  v/nich  he 
ought  to  excrcife  towards  thofe  v.'ho  hc^e 
offended  him.  Does  not  every  moment  of 
a  Hfe  prolonged  to  him  by  divine  mercy 
demonilrate  the  injufiice  of  hatred  and  re- 
venge ?  Shall  a  frail  and  miferable  worm 
thirit  for  vengeance  when  that  Almighty 
Being  to  whom  alone  it  belongs  forbears 
to  execute  it  ?*  "  Be  ye,  therefore,  perfeft, 
as  your  Father  who  is  in  Heaven  is  per- 
fe6l"f — that  is,  in  the  language  of  another 
evangelilt,  '^  be  merciful  as  he  is  merci- 
lul.  1 


*   St.  Cyprian. 
•j-    Ivlatthcw  V. 
%  Luke  vi.  36. 


TJie  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries,         2^3 

But   the  mod  intcrefling  motive  for  the 
cuhivation  of  this  temper  is  to  be  drawn 
from   the  great  acl  of  divine  mercy  in  the 
crofs  of  Chrift.     "  God  commendeth   his 
love  to  us  in  that  while  we  were  yet  ene- 
mies Chrift  died  for  us.'*^*     Behold  that  blef- 
fed  viftim  v/ho,  having  lived  with  meeknefs 
amidft  innumerable  infults  and  reproaches, 
died  with  a  fweetnefs  and  patience  worthy 
the  image  and  the  organ  of  the  divine  love 
to  man  !     While  hnners  were  pouring  up- 
on   him  their  curfes,   he  fheds  upon  them 
his  bleffings.     While  they  were  multiplying 
on  his  facred  perfon  the  moft  cruel  outrages, 
with  infinite  benignity  he  pronounces  their 
forgivenefs,  and  even  makes  the  apology  of 
their  crimes — "  Father !  forgive   them,  for 
they  know  not  what  they  do."+    Ah  !  chrif- 
tians !  what  an  example  to  us  whofe  fins 
were  obliterated  by  that  a6l !  It  is  calculate 
ed  to  touch  the  deepeft  fp rings  of  the  foul. 
Can  we  hear  his  gracious  voice  and  not  ex- 
tinguifh  every  hateful  and  malignant  paffion 
which  prid^  has  enkindled  in  the  lieart  ? 
Can  IOC  be  the  fubje6ls  of  divine  forgivenefs, 

*   Rom.  V.  8. 
t  Luke  xxiii.  34. 


264         The  For giucicfs  of  Injuries. 

and  fliall  we  not  be  willing  alfo  to  forgive? 
**  Let'  therefore,  all  bitterncfs,  and  wrath, 
and  anger,  and  clamour,  and  evil-fpeaking 
be  put  away  from  you,  with  all  m.alice. — 
And  be  ye  kind  one  to  another,  tender 
hearted,  forgiving  one  another,  even  as 
God,  for  Chriii's  fake  hath  forgiven  you."f 

The  reafonablenefs  of  this  duty  will  be- 
come ftill  more  apparent  from  confidering 
the  infufficient  grounds  of  thofe  averfions 
and  refentments  that  moll  frequently  dif- 
turb  the  harmony  of  fociety — they  are  con- 
tradictions to  our  opinions — oifences  to  our 
pride — oppohtion  to  our  pleafures  or  inter- 
efts — injuflice  to  our  charader  and  reputa- 
tion. 

The  moil  innocent  differences  of  opinion 
have  often  given  rife  to  implacable  dilfen- 
tions  between  various  parties;  and  their 
minds,  fourcd,  irritated  and  inflamed, 
break  afunder,  the  gentle  and  holy  bands  of 
humanity  and  charity.  It  feems  as  if  the 
felf-love  of  m,cn  took  their  judgment  under 
its  protection  with  peculiar  fondaefs.     Each 

■■*  Eph.  ir.  32. 


The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries,         265 

one  is  difpofed  to  make  his  own  reafon  the 
flandard  for  others  not  only  in  political 
and  religious  tenets,  but  even  in  the  man- 
agement of  the  moil  common  affairs,  and 
is  offended  at  thofe  differences  that  mufl 
ever  neceffarily  fpring  out  of  the  imperfec- 
tion of  human  nature.  They  are  imputed 
to  malignity,  to  corruption  of  heart,  to 
every  unworthy  caufe  that  can  juftify  our 
refentment.  Alas  !  how  unbecoming  are 
conclufions  of  this  kind  to  wafe  m.en  who 
underiland  the  narrow  limits  of  human  rea- 
fon, and  the  infinite  prepofleflions  of  the 
human  heart  that  give  a  bias  to  opinion  ! 
Genuine  wifdom  fearches  for  truth  with 
candor,  and  embraces  it  with  firmnefs  in 
proportion  to  its  evidence  ;  but,  at  the  fame 
time,  has  forbearance  for  the  weak,  has  tol- 
erance for  the  prejudiced,  and  knows  no 
other  weapons  for  the  defence  or  propaga- 
tion of  its  opinions  but  thofe  of  perfuahon 
and  convi6lion. 

Other  grounds  of  refentment  are  found 
in  thofe  offences  to  pride  and  felf-elleem 
that  are  fo  often  given  in  the  intercourfe  of 
fociety. 

LI 


^66        The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries, 

Not  to  mention  that  the  infolence  and 
difdain  of  the  rich,  and  the  envy  and  jeal- 
oufy  of  the  poor,  ^vhich  are  frequently  the 
caufes  of  mutual  hatred  and  injuftice,  are 
equally  the  fruits  of  an  ignorant  pride  that 
has  not   learned  to  reft   merit  on   its  true 
foundations,  the  influence  of  this  unholy 
and  uncharitable  principle  is  daily  appear- 
ing on  the  moft  ordinary  and  frivolous  oc- 
cahons.     The  different  circles  into  which 
accident  or  choice  has  arranged  focietyare 
made  the  grounds  of  a  thoufand  liule  inju- 
ries that  are  fuffered  to  ferment  in  the  brcaft^ 
and  to   deftroy  their  mutual  candor.     The 
eircumftance  alone  of  being  connefted  with 
different   parties,   or   movmg   in    different 
fpheres  is  apt  to  touch  the  pride  of  infirm 
minds.     You  have  not  obtained  that  rank 
in  particular  companies,  you  have  not  re- 
ceived that  attention  from  certain  perfons 
"Which  you  thought  was  your  due — you  have 
perceived  in  them  a  refervedor  haughty  air, 
you  have  feen  a  fufpicious  glance,  you  have 
obferved  a  difdainful  fmile.     Hence  arife 
animofities,  hatreds,  complaints.     Society  is 
difturbed    v/itli    your    refentments.      Yet, 
when  the  caufe  is  examined,  perhaps  it  ex- 
ills  only  in  your  own  fufpicions.     If  it  has 


77ie  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries.         267 

a  foundation,  the  evil  is  aggravated  by  the 
jealoLify  of  pride.  But,  be  the  offence  as 
great  as  your  felf-love  hag  painted  it,  is  it  a 
ground  on  which  you  Ihould  violate  to- 
wards your  neighbour  all  the  precious  char- 
ities of  religion  ?  A  wife  man,  acquainted 
with  the  world,  (liould  remember  how  of- 
ten thefe  appearances  are  miilaken — a  good 
man,  pitying  the  v/eaknefs  that  would  offer 
him  an  unmerited  infult,  (hould  be  content- 
ed, like  the  Roman  Emperor,  to  do  nothing 
that  deferves  to  be  defpiied.* 

Repeated  and  pointed  oppofitions  to  our 
interefcs  or  pleafures,  as  they  are  hard  to  be 
borne  by  the  frailty  of  hum.an  nature,  are 
too  often  eileemed  a  juftiiication  of  the 
revengeful  paffions.  Hovv^  can  I  love  the 
man,  you  fay,  who,  on  all  occafions,  fets 
himfelf  againft  me  ?  How  can  I  forgive  the 
malice  that  is  perpetually  thwarting  my  de- 
figns,  and  defeating  my  bell  founded  hopes? 
Remember  that  you  fee  his  aftions  only 
throudi  the  medium  of  refentments  that 

o 

difcolour  all    their  obje6ts.      The   malice 
which  you  impute  to  him  may  be  nothing 

*  Page  254. 


2^8  The  Forgivcnefs  oflnjui  ks. 

more  than  a  fuccefsful  rivalfliip,  and  \ht 
inoll  lawful  life  of  his  own  rishts.  His  in- 
terference  with  your  purfuits  may  have  been 
wholly  accidental,,  a  thing  without  any  un- 
friendly defign.  Yet  your  felf-love  repre- 
fents  it  as  a  cruel  and  intentional  injury. 
Ah  !  how  unjuli  are  your  fufpicions  both  to 
yourfelf  and  to  him !  But,  were  he  an  ene- 
my fliall  you  add  to  the  injury  he  has  alrea- 
dy done  you,  one  ftill  greater,  by  wounding 
your  own  peace,  and  putting  in  hazard 
your  eternal  falvation  ?  How  much  more 
"Worthy  of  a  chriilian  would  it  be  to  be  fu- 
perior  to  evil  by  the  force  of  divine  love, 
and,  in  the  riches  and  glory  of  your  celef. 
tial  inheritance,  to  be  able  to  forget  all  the 
inferior  injuries  of  time. 

Finally,  another  caufe  of  thofe  bitter  and 
uncharitable  refentments  that  fo  often  dif- 
<juiet  the  peace  of  the  world,  is  to  be  found 
in  the  tales  and  whifpers  that  are  continu- 
ally ftealing  through  fociety,  like  an  infec- 
tious air,  and  poifoning  the  fources  of  its 
happinefs. — That  perfon,  you  fuppofe,  has 
done  injuiliceto  your  reputation,  or  fpoken 
of  you  with  contempt  or  flight.  This  may 
be  a  mifreprefentation  as  unjufl  to  him  as 


'FJie  Forgivencfs  cf  Injuries.  269 

to  you.  It  may  be  the  work  of  that  ever 
brooding  flii'picion  only  that  hatches  in  the 
fancy  nothing  but  fcorpions  to  fting  and  de- 
flroy  its  own  peace.  It  may  be  merely  the 
tale  of  inconfiderate  and  talkative  perfons 
who  are  conimwdiWy J cattcring  through Jocidy 
Jlrebrands,  arrows,  and  death,  and  then  Jay ^ 
like  the  madman,  is  it  not  m  Jport  ? — Per- 
haps it  has  been  infmuated  to  you  by  de- 
figning  men,  who  delight  in  the  mifchiefs 
they  create,  or  by  fall'e  friends  who  lludy 
only  to  recommend  themfelves  by  a  pre- 
tended and  officious  zeal  for  you. — If  he 
has  fpoken  againfl  you,  may  it  not  have 
been  the  effecl  of  inconfideraiion  which  in- 
nocence does  not  feel,  and  to  which  generof- 
ity  of  tem.per  will  be  fuperior  ?  May  it  not 
have  been  occafioned  by  the  influence  of 
pernicious  flandcrers  and  tale  bearers  who 
have  prepoffeffed  and  foured  his  mind  ?  A 
weaknefs  which,  a  good  man  will  pity  and 
excufe.  May  it  not  have  arifen  from  dark 
and  fufpicious  circumftances  in  your  own 
conduct  which  you  have  not  condefcended 
to  explain  ?  Have  you  not,  with  too  much 
pride,  cbferved  a  certain  diflance  and  re- 
ferve  with  regard  to  thefe  circumilances 
that  leaves  fufpicion  to  irnprefs  upon  them 


i^o         The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries, 

its  darkefl  colours  ?  A  great  wif  once  faid^ 
*'it  is  necelTary  for  mankind  only  to  con- 
verfe  together  freely  every  day  to  make 
them  all  of  one  religion."  With  much 
greater  truth  might  it  be  faid  that  a  free 
and  candid  intercourfe  would  make  them 
all  friends. 

But,  adm.it  that  he  has  flandered,  that  he 
has  reproached  you,  and  that  you  have 
found  in  him  the  certain  proofs  of  an  un- 
reafonable  enmity,  how  ought  a  chridian 
to  retaliate  and  refute  fuch  unworthy  char- 
ges  ?  Not  by  failing  into  the  fame  faults — 
not  by~bitternefs,  and  clamor,  and  wrath, 
Thefe  are  unholy  weapons,  and  are  ufuaily 
the  evidences  of  a  weak  and  vulnerable  cha- 
racler  in  thofe  who  ufe  them.  A  mild  and 
amiable  diipofition,  a  prudent  and  virtuous 
conduft  is  the  bed  refutation  of  every  ca- 
lumny to  the  world.  And,  with  regard  to 
him,  the  dignity  of  m.eeknefs  and  filence  will 
humble  him  infinitely  more  than  any  refent- 
ments,  w^hich  tend  only  to  gratify  his  pride, 
and  to  give  him  a  malicious  coniequence  in 
his  own  eReem,  by  feeing  his  power  to  dif- 
turb  your  repofe. 


The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries.  271 

Upon  the  whole  view  of  the  fubje^l,  how 
amiable  as  a  rule  of  conduft,  is  the  chrif- 
tian  law  of  forgivenefs  and  charity  !  It  con- 
tains in  it  the  fublimeft  philofophy,as  well  as 
the  principles  of  the  moit  interefting  civili- 
ty and  politenefs  of  manners.  Not  only 
does  it  prohibit  contention  and  hoftility,  but 
all  thofe  rude  and  unfriendly  pamons  that 
difturb  the  harmony  of  Ibciety — nay, 
"  whofoever  is  angry  with  his  brother  with- 
out a  caufe,"  violates  its  mild  and  benevo- 
lent fpirit.  If  all  men  would  fubmit  their 
pafiions  and  their  aftions  to  its  gentle  con- 
troul,  it  would  fpeedily  render  the  world, 
now  filled  with  diforder  and  with  crimes,  an 
image  of  the  p-eace  and  felicity  of  Heaven, 
I  am  aware  there  are  delicate  fituations  in- 
to w'hich  a  man  may  be  thrown,  which  will 
render  obedience  to  this  law,  the  lad  ef- 
fort of  felf-command.  But  no  virtue  can 
be  perfefted  without  an  effort — no  vitlory 
can  be  o:ained  without  a  coriflitl.  Let  it  be 
remembered  that  the  orreater  the  obfcacles 
are  which  you  overcome,  the  richer  will  be 
your  crown  in  the  regions  of  immortal 
peace.  The  duty  is  ofthehighell  importance, 
and  it  will,  from  the  impartial  judge  of  all, 
receive  a  proportionable  reward. — >If  it  h 


272  The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

difficult,  it  is  not  impoffible.  And  it  be- 
comes a  chriilian  continually  to  implore,  at 
the  throne  of  divine  grace,  thofe  aids  oi  the 
Holy  Spirit  that  will  enable  him  to  culti- 
vate and  bring  it  to  perfection. 

In  order  to  avoid  contention  and  wrath, 
cultivate  a  meek  and  benevolent  temper. — 
"  As  much  as  in  you  lieth,  live  peaceably 
with  all  men."  Maintain  an  inoffenfive 
commerce  with  the  world.  Let  every  kind 
and  delicate  attention  mark  your  intercourfe 
with  >•  your  friends  and  companions.  Be 
ready,  without  envy  or  coldnefs,  to  render 
judice  to  their  good  qualities — interpret 
with  candor  their  doubtful  actions — treat 
with  indulgence  their  capricious  humors — 
caft  a  mantle  of  love  over  their  infirmities. 
Aid  not  the  flander,  or  ridicule  throvv^n  on 
abfent  characters  ;  but  make  it  your  benevo- 
lent rule  to  defend  them.  Never  lend  an 
ear  to  calumny  ;  nor  liften  to  the  officious 
and  faithlefs  tales  brought  to  you  by  others 
againil  yourfelf,  only  to  difquiet  your  peace. 
Seek  not  to  intermeddle  in  affairs  that  are  not 
your  own.  Efpecially,  beware  of  prying 
into  the  fecrets  of  families  in  order  to  dif- 
clofe  them.     Never  give  v/ay  to  fudden  im- 


The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries,         273 

piilfes  of  paffion;  but  check  them  till  you 
have  had  leifure  to  confider  and  reflect. — • 
Imitate  the  example  of  the  blefled  Jefus 
"  who,  when  he  was  he  reviled,  reviled  not 
again,  when  he  fuifered  he  threatened  not."'** 
Governed  by  the  maxims  of  prudence  and 
benevolence,  rarely  will  you  have  impor- 
tant injuries  to  refent — and  dill  more  rare- 
ly will  it  not  be  in  your  power  to  curb 
your  refentments,  and  fubdue  yt)ur  paflions, 
which  you  have  already  reduced  under  ha- 
bitual controul. 

But,  if,  notwithftanding  the  clear  and  ex- 
plicit law  of  Chrid,  and  lo  many  motives 
to  the  pra6iice  of  charity  and  mercy  as  the 
gofpel  exhibits,  the  poifbn  of  a  revengeful 
temper,  the  gall  of  bitternefs  and  wrath 
Ihould  ftill  lodge  at  the  bottom  of  the 
heart,  remember  that  he  who  fheweth  no 
mercy  (liali  himfelf  meet  with  none  from  a 
juft  and  righteous  God.  "  Dearly  belov- 
ed, avenge  not  yourfelves.  Vengeance  is 
mine  I  will  repay,  faith  the  Lord.'t — • 
Haughty  and  vinditiive  fpirits  !  who  would 
pluck  from  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  the 

*  Pet.  ii.  22. 
•J-  Rom.  xii.  19. 


274         The  Forgivenefs  of  Injuries. 

ballance  and  the  fword,  look  up  to  that  tri- 
bunal Vv'here  your  own  judgment  awaits 
you  ;  and  let  the  awful  majefty  of  divine 
juPdce  humble  your  pride,  and  correct  your 
rage.  What  right  have  you  to  encompafs 
the  altars  of  mercy  ?  With  what  plea  can 
you  approach  the  throne  of  grace  ?  How 
can  you  dare  pronounce  that  prayer  dic- 
tated by  divine  love  in  the  form  of  man — 
"  forgive  us  our  trefpalTes  as  we  forgive 
thofe  w^ho  trefpafs  againft  us  !"  Alas  !  in  it 
you  imprecate  upon  your  heads  the  mofl 
tremendous  curfe.  As  you  forgive  thofe 
who  trefpafs  againft  you  !  When  revenge 
ftill  rankles  in  your  heart !  When  you  hate, 
v/hen  you  abhor,  v/hen  you  would  cruih 
your  enemy  in  the  dull !  Jufl  God  !  is  not 
this  to  demand  thy  thunders  ?  Is  it  not  to 
tempt,  to  folicit  from  thy  hands  the  flames 
that  are  deftined  to  confume  hardened  and 
impenitent  guilt  ?  Renounce  then  at  the 
foot  of  the  crofs,  on  which  the  Saviour  died 
for  his  enemies,  all  malice  and  anger — "  let 
not  the  fun  go  down  upon  your  w^rath. ' 
Extinguifh  in  your  hearts  its  unhallowed 
flames.  And  let  no  fires  burn  there  but  the 
holy  fires  of  love  to  God,  and  love  to  man- 
kind. AMEN ! 


C    ^15    ] 
DISCOUP.se     XI. 

ON    THE    PLEASURES    OF    RELIGION, 


Psalms  xix.  ii. 
In  keeping  of  them  there  is  great  retoard, 

WHAT  is  the  chief  good  ?  Was  the 
great  inquiry  of  the  ancient  fchools ; 
and  the  different  anfv/ers  to  this  queilion 
formed  the  principal  dillin6lions  amonsrthe 
various  feds  of  philolbphy.  Happinefs  is 
the  end  of  ail  the  purfuits  of  men — it  is  the 
objeft  of  all  their  fighs.  Yet  are  they  al- 
mofl  ever  difap pointed  in  the  means  that 
are  taken  to  obtain  it.  They  follow  the 
dictates  of  their  paifions.  And  it  is  not  till 
after  they  have  fought  it  in  vain  through 
€very  form  offalfe  pleafurc  that  they  come, 
at  length  to  find  it,  where  alone  reafon  and 
religion  have  concurred  to  place  it  in  obe- 
<lience  to  God,  and  a  life  of  virtue.  Here 
the  anxious  mind  finds  a  calm  and  fettled 


o^ 


75      Ofi  the  Flcafures  of  Religion. 

peace  which  it  had  not  known,  and  whicit 
it  could  not  know  amidfl  the  agitations  of 
the  world — and  here  it  finds  thole  fubhme^ 
and  delightful  objefts  of  contemplation,  or 
enjoyment  which  alone  are  worthy  of  a  ra- 
tional and  immortal  nature.  Vicious  men 
who  fee  nothing  in  God  but  an  angry  judge^ 
the  enemy  of  their  pleafures,  and  who  lee 
nothino-  in  religion  but  the  rellraints  which 
it  impofes  upon  their  tavonte  enjoy ments, 
are  apt  to  reprefent  it  to  themfelves  as  an 
auftere  fervice,  and  as  drav/ing  a  deep  (hade 
of  melancholy  and  gloom  over  the  whoje  of 
life.  But  a  good  man  who  has  all  his  incli- 
nations regulated  by  the  principles  of  rea- 
fon,  and  the  fpirit  of  piety,  will  lind,  in  the 
aifeclions  and  the  objetls  of  religion,  the 
fourccs  of  his  fupreme  enjoyment.  He  need 
not  alk,  like  the  difcontented  world,  *'  who 
will  (hew  us  any  good  ?  God  is  his  chief 
ffood.  "  And,  in  keeping  his  command- 
ments, there  is  great  rev/ard." 

This  refleftion  of  the  pfaimid  might  be 
extended  to  (hew^  the  benencial  influence  of 
relision  on  all  our  temnoral,  as  well  as  our 
eternal  concerns.  A  rational  piety,  unmix- 
ed with  the  exceffes  of  enthuliafm;  or  the 


On  the  Plcafures  of  Religion.        zjj 

gloom  of  ruperftitiori,  contributes  to  the 
improvement  ot  all  the  ellimable  qualities 
both  of  body  and  of  mind.  By  freeing 
the  foul  from  the  obfcurin'^^  m.iils  of  fen- 
fual  paffionSj  it  tends  to  enlighten  and  invi- 
gorate thofe  powers,  wliatever  they  may  be, 
with  which  it  hath  pleafed  the  Creator  to  en- 
dow it.  By  rellraining  pernicious  vices, 
and  by  the  moderation  of  the  appetites,  it  is 
favourable  to  health.  The  goodnefs  and  be- 
nevolence of  heart  which  real  piety  infpires, 
{lieds  an  inimitable  grace  upon  the  manners. 
It  gives  a  purity  of  fentiment,  and  dignity 
of  conduct  that  attracls  elleem  and  conh- 
dence  from  the  world,  and  by  the  habits  of 
temperance,  frugality,  induilry,  and  inte- 
grity which  it  promotes,  it  is  friendly  to  the 
advancement  of  every  temporal  intereft. 

Thefe  fubjefts  would  bear  an  ample  and 
an  ufeful  illuflration.  But  I  purpofe,  in 
this  difcourfe,  to  confine  my  view  to  the 
internal  comtorts  that  flow  from    relig-ion. 

o 

It  offers  the  hisrhefh  fatisfaclions  to  the 
mind — It  yields  tne  pureft  pleafures  to  the 
heart — It  introduces  ferenity  and  peace  into 
the  l^aR — And  finally,  it  affords  a  fource 


278        On  the  Pleafares  of  Religion, 

of  happmefs  that  is  always  v/ithin  our  pow- 
er, that  is  (ecure  from  the  viciiiitudes  of  life, 
and  that  (hall  be  eternal.  • 

1.  It  oiTers  the  highefc  fatisFaftions  to 
the  mind. — The  exercife  of  reafon  and  ima- 
g-inatlon,  \vhich  are  its  principal  powers,  on 
objefts  worthy  their  nature,  are  among  ihe 
chief,  as  they  arc  certainly  among  the  no- 
bleft  pleafures  of  a  thinking  being.  To 
live  without  thought,  or  to  employ  its  ener- 
o-ies  on  low  and  degrading  objects,  is  tofmk 
our  nature,  and  to  rob  it  of  a  iublime  feli- 
city to  which  the  goodnefs  of  the  creator 
had  deftined  it.  And  what  fubjects  are  [o 
p-reat  and  interefcing,  and  fo  well  deferve 
to  emoloy  the  rational  faculties  of  man  as 
thofe  which  religion  prefents  to  his  con- 
templation ?  The  being  and  perfeftion  of 
the  Deitv,  and  his  glorious  works  who  in 
wi/dom  hath  made  them  all — the  aftonilhing 
economy  of  our  redemption  through  an 
incarnate  and  a  fuff^^ring  Saviour,  vJiich 
ihino-s  the  angels  defire  to  look  into— the 
nature  of  man,  foikillfully  and  wonderfully 
?7ji2i^— the  perfeft  law  of  his  duty — and  his 
prefent  and  eternal  deilinations.  Q^thefe 
fublime  ideas  vicious  men  likcvrife  may  em- 


On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion,       279 

ploy  their  talents.  But,  not  dire6led  by 
a  fpirit  of  piety,  their  views  are  falfe  and 
narrow,  their  concluiions  fceptical  and  cold. 
They  perceive  not  that  high  glow  of  delight 
which  a  good  man  feels  who  examines  into 
them  only  that  he  may  adore  God  with  a 
more  profound  fentiment,  and  offer  him  a 
more  exalted  and  reafonable  fervice. 

Imagination,  alfo  derives  its  moft  eleva- 
ting and  delightful  exercifes  from  religion. 
Its  proper  held,  and  employment  is  among 
the  works  of  nature,  contemplating  their 
grandeur,  their  wifdom,  and  their  beauty, 
and  inflaming  devotion  by  confidering  the 
indications  which  they  contain  of  inhnite 
power,  intelligence,  and  goodnefs.  Piety 
fees  God  in  all  things  ;  and,  by  its  influence 
on  the  heart,  (beds  a  divine  charm  over  the 
univerfe.  The  holy  pfalmift,  in  many  of 
his  compofitions,  that  are  as  much  diltin- 
guiflied  by  the  fine  genius  of  poetry  by 
v^hich  they  were  infpired,  as  by  the  fpirit 
of  devotion  which  they  breathe,  gives  us  a 
beautiful  example  of  an  imagination  kin- 
dled, and  a  heart  touched  by  thefe  pious 
view5^i6f  nature.     The  heavens  declare  the 


28o       On  the  Pleajures  of  Religion, 

glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament  flieweth 
his  handy  work.""^'  **  O  Lord  my  God ! 
thou  art  exceeding  great !  thou  art  clothed 
with  honor  and  majefly  !  who  covereil  thy- 
felf  with  light  as  with  a  garment  who  flretch- 
ePc  out  the  heavens  like  a  curtain  !  who  lay- 
eft  the  beams  of  thy  chambers  in  the  wha- 
lers !  who  makeil  the  clouds  thy  chariots  ! 
who  walkeft  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind  ! 
O  Lord  !  how  manifold  are  thy  works  !  In. 
wiidom  thou  haft  made  them  all !  The  earth 
is  full  of  thy  riches  !"+  ''  Praifehim  Sun  and 
Moon.  Praife  him  all  ye  ftars  of  light ! 
Praife  him  ye  Heavens  of  Heavens  !"  j  The 
writings  of  this  author  are  full  of  fuch  divine 
extahes.  A  good  man  cannot  read  them 
without  partaking,  in  fome  meafure,  of  the 
delightful  enthufiafm  by  which  they  v/ere 
infpired.  With  the  fame  fpirit,  likewife, 
he  contemplates  the  works  of  the  Creator, 
and  often  derives  from  them  the  like  holy 
raptures.  Imagination  and  tafte,  the  four- 
ces  of  fo  many  boafted  pleafures  to  the  re- 
fined and  cultivated  mind,  afford  even  to  it 
comparatively    barren    and    frigid  enjoy- 


*  Pfalms  ix.  i. 
f  Piklms  civ. 
J:  Pfalms  cxlviiu 


On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion .        281 

merits  unlefs  they  are  united  with  religion, 
and  warmed  with  its  facred  fires. 

II.    Religion  likewife   yields  the    purefl 
pleafures  to  the  heart. 

The  principal  enjoyments  of  life  are  de- 
rived from  warm  and  reorulated  affections. 
We  may  be  faid  to  be  happy  in  proportion 
as  we  love  what  is  worthy  of  the  heart. — 
The  reigning  affections  of  piety  are  the  love 
of  God,  and  the  love  of  man.  No  principles 
of  happinefs  are  fo  pure  and  excellent  in 
themfeives,  or  fo  ennobling  to  human  na- 
ture. When  we  turn  our  view  on  the  divine 
perfeftion,  can  any  ideas  yield  fo  tranfcen- 
dent  a  pleafure  to  a  virtuous  and  pious 
heart,  as  that  infinite  intelliiience  that  (nines 
through  all  the  wonderful  flrutiure  of  na- 
ture, and  impreffes  its  chara61er  on  every 
objett  that  we  behold — as  that  inlinite  be- 
nignity that  fp reads  the  light  of  its  beauty  on 
the  whole  face  of  the  world,  and  which  we 
continually  experience  in  the  felicity  of  our 
own  lot — in  a  w^ord,  as  that  infinite  caufe 
of  all  that  is  fublime,  or  excellent  in  the 
univerfe,  that  furrounds  us  wherever  we 
go,  and  that  intimately  penetrates  our  be- 
N  n 


282        On  tliz  Plaifures  of  Religion, 

irsg.      Meditations  on  thefe  divine  fubjeOis 
are  moil  worthy  of  a   reafonable  and  im- 
mortal mind ;  and  they  are   calculated  to 
introduce  into  it   the    pureil  confolations, 
•  and,  at  fome  precious  and  chofen  moments, 
the  holieft  raptures.     Pious  men,  with  one 
voice,  confeLs  that  their  happieh:  feafons  are 
thofein  which  they  are  moft  fenhble  of  the 
divine  prefence:  or,  in  which,  approaching 
the  throne  of  God  v/ith  an  humble  truft  in 
the  divine  mercy,  they  pour  out  their  fouls 
to  him  in  the  fweet  "eifufions  of  gratitude 
and  love.     /' There  be  many  who  fay,  who 
will  (liew  us   any   good?     Lord!   hft  thou 
up  the  light  of  thy  countenance  upon  us  1 
Thou  hait  put  gladnefs  in   my  heart  more 
than  in  the  time  that  their  corn  and  their 
wine  abounded."'"     "  Whom  have  I  in  hea- 
ven but  thee  !  and  there  is  none  upon  earth 
I  dcfire  beiide  thee  !''''t     Thefe  are  not  the 
enjoyments  of  an,unranftified,  or  of  a  cold 
heart.     But,  when  the  heart  is  renewed  after 
the  image  of  God,  and  formed  to  the  reliHi 
of  divine  truth— v/hen  it  is  created  anew  in 
Clinjt  Jefus  unto  good  works,  and  animated 
by  the  fpirit  of  pioiy,  ii  enjoys  them  v/ith  a 

*  Pfalms  xlvlii. 
■\   Pill] ins  lixiii. 


Gr  the  Pleajurcs  of  Religion.        283 

fatisfaftion  not  to  be  defcribed,  and  derives 
from  the  objefts  of  religion  plcafures  far 
fiiperior  to  liiolb  that  are  yielded  by  the 
world,   or  that  are  ever  tailed  by  vicious 

But  the  divine  benignity  to  mankind 
{Junes  mod  coni'picuouily  in  a  crucuied 
Redeemer.  Whata  fubjecl  of  delight  to  a 
hncere  chriftian  who  feels  his  obligations  to 
redeeming  mercy  !  At  the  foot  of  the  crofs 
he  pours  the  floods  of  his  gratitude,  and, 
looking  up  to  ihe  great  facritice  ol  his  fal- 
vation,  he  indulges  the  holy  triumphs'of  im- 
mortal hope.  Bleifed  Jefus  I  what  confo- 
lations  flow  from  thy  love  !  Where  can  the 
world  open  fuch  a  facred  and  inexhauited 
fountain  of  joy  ?  "  Whom,  having  not 
feen,  we  love  ;  in  ^vhom  believing  we  rejoice 
with  joy  un{pe^Jcabie  and  full  of  glory."^* 

The  next  branch  of  relioion  confifts  in 

o 

thofe  kind  affe6lions  that  conned  us  with 
mankind.  "  Thou  flialt  love  thy  neighbour 
as  thyfelf,"  is  one  half  the  lav/  of  chriltiaii 
duty,  and  is  the  great  cement  of  chriiiiaM 

*  I.  Peter  3*.  S. 


2  E4        0)1  the  Plcafures  of  Religion. 

fociety.     The  ordinary   intercourfe  of  the 
world  is  a  cold  commerce  of  interell,  or  a 
hypocritical    drama  of  htlitious    feelings. 
And  the  harmony  of  fociety  is  liable  to  be 
frequently  diftuibed  and  broken  by  envy, 
malice,  hatred,  emulations,  wrath,  ftrife,  and 
fuch    turbulent    and    malignant    paflions, 
which  are  equally  painful  to  thofe  who  in- 
dulge them,  and  thofe  againft  whom  they 
are  direcled.     True  piety,  which  makes  us 
feel  our  fraternity  with  mankind,  commands 
us  to  extinguidi  all  thofe  felnfh  difpofitions 
which  throw   men  at  a  diftance  from  one 
another.     If  all  men  were  governed  by  its 
benevolent   fpirit,  it   would  transform  this 
hoftile  and  contentious  world  into  an  imaee 
or  Paradife.     By  the  amiable  reprefentation 
which  the  apoltie   gives   of  this  evangelic 
temper  w^e  may  eflimate  its  lovely  and  hap- 
py fruits.     *"  Charity  fuftereth   long  and  is 
kind — charity  ehvieth  not — charity  vaunt- 
cth  not  itfelf — is  not   puffed  up — doth  not 
behave  itfelf    unfeemly — fecketh  not   her 
own — is  not  eafily  provoked — thinketh  no 
evil — rejoiceth  not  in  iniquity — but  rejoic- 
cth    in    the    truth — beareth  all  things — be- 
lieveth  all  things — hopeth   all  things — en- 


On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion.        285 

dureth  all  things."'^  Many  of  our  mofi: 
tender  and  refreihing  pleafures  arife  out  of 
thofe  kind  alfeflions  that  unite  us  to  the 
great  family  of  mankind.  And  heaven,  as 
it  refpefts  our  intercourfe  with  one  another, 
is  but  the  perfection  of  thefe  amiable  difpo- 
fitions.— Humanity,  that  meets  in  every 
man  a  brother— Sympathy,  that  enters  with 
warmth  into  the  virtuous  fenfibilities  of 
others— Friendlhip,  that  glows  with  gener- 
ous emotions,  and  binds  us  to  thofe  whom  w^e 
love  by  the  fineil  ties— Candour,  that  puts 
on  every  dubious  appearance  the  moft  favor- 
able interpretation— Charity,  that  feels  with 
quicknefs  the  diftrcffes  of  the  unhappy— In- 
tegrity, that  gives  to  all  then-  due,  and  is 
unwillmg  to  owe  any  man  aught  but  love 
—and  Generofity,  that  is  more  than  juft, 
the  benevolent  overflovv^ing  of  the  foul,  are 
principles  of  the  higheft  value,  not  only 
for  their  ufeful  and  happy  eifefts  on  fociety 
but  for  the  fweet  enjoyment  which  they 
yield  to  our  ov/n  bofom. 

The  exercife  of  fricndfhip  and  benevo- 
lence to  others  is  the  way  to  enfurc  the  like 

*  I.  Corinthians  xili. 


285       On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion, 

returns  from  them.  Or,  if  we  meet  with 
"unreafonable  and  malignant  fpirits,  it  is  the 
bed  means  to  efcape,  or  to  render  abortive 
their  injurious  defigns.  How  many  feuds 
might  be  avoided,  and  what  quietnefs  of 
mind  might  be  preferved,  by  a  meeknefs 
and  forbearance  that  cannot  be  provoked 
to  retaliate  the  aggreflions,  and  offences  of 
unreafonable  m.en?  How  many  wounds 
to  our  own  peace  might  be  prevented  by  a 
gentlenefs  and  humility  that  does  not  un- 
necelfarily  offend  the  pride,  or  invite 
the  infolence  of  others  ?  What  pain- 
ful irritations  might  be  allayed,  or  would 
never  be  fuifered  to  rife  in  the  heart,  by  a 
candour  that  is  not  eafily  induced  to  thmk 
evil,  or  indulge  fufpicions  of  our  neighbour, 
and  by  a  generous  prudence  and  dignity 
of  mind  that  refufrs  to  lilten  to  the  calum- 
nies of  the  world  ? — IF  a  man  would  live 
refpefted  and  efteemed,  and  enjoy  the  ex- 
quifite  pleafure  of  loving,  and  being  belov- 
ed, let  him  early  crufn  in  his  heart  the  feeds 
of  all  unfocial  paflions,  and  cultivate  in  his 
commerce  with  men  the  divine  principles 
of  gentlenefs  and  benevolence. 


On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion,        287 

The  fatisfaclions  that  are  derived  from 
this  fource  to  a  good  man,  may  be  eftimated 
by  comparing  them  with  the  inquietudes 
that  fpring  from  bitter  and  uncharitable  paf- 
fions.  Pride,  envy,  malice,  fufpicion,  tor- 
ment the  bofom  in  which  they  dwell.  Jea- 
loufies,  rivalflnps,  ardent  competitions  dif- 
turb  that  ferenity  of  mind  fo  effential  to 
happhiefs.  Slanders,  difcords  and  mutual 
mjuries  poifon  individual  comfort,  and  tend 
to  rent  fociety  to  pieces.  If  violent  and 
malevolent  tempers  could  attain  all  for 
which  they  contend,  and  moft  fuccefsfully 
deprefs  a  rival,  or  revenge  an  injurv,  tlieir 
fatisfaftions  would  be  infinitely  overballan- 
ced  by  their  pains.  Turbid  and  dark,  at 
beft,  they  refemble  the  malignant  joys  of 
infernal  fpirits. 

As  a  good  m.an  enjoys  greater  felicity 
than  others  from  the  predominance  of  hu- 
mane and  gentle  difpofitions  in  his  own 
bread,  he  likewife  fuffers  lefs  than  the  wrath- 
ful and  refentful,  from  the  injuilice  and  the 
{landers  which  the  envy  or  the  malice  of 
tl-e  ^v■orId  may  aim  againft  him.  They,  by 
a  rancour  that  envenoms  the  heart,  by  the 
boiling   fury    of  their   rage,   or  by  violent 


288        On  the  Plecijures  of  Religion, 

projecls  of  vengeance,  pierce  their  own  bo- 
foms  with  deeper  wounds  than  their  ene- 
mies had  it  in  their  power  to  inflifcl.  He, 
by  an  equanimity  of  temper,  and  dignity  of 
fentiment,  the  fruit  of  confcious  virtue,  pre- 
ferves  a  compofed  and  unruffled  mind.  He 
dwells  above  the  clouds  and  ftorms  of  the 
paffions  that  afflicl  the  inferior  world,  and 
enjoys  a  ferene  ll^y.  Even  calumny  the 
cruel  difturber  of  fociety  can  hardly  difcom- 
pofe  his  fettled  tranquility.  Secure  in  his 
own  innocence,  he  can  calmly  leave  to  time 
and  providence  his  vindication.  Nay,  en- 
abled, by  divine  grace,  to  pity  and  forgive 
his  enemies,  he  enjoys,  in  this  heavenly  dif- 
pofition,  a  fweeter  fatisfaciion  than  he  could 
derive  from  the  moft  fuccefsful  plans  of 
vengeance. 

III.  ReliLnon  is  favorable  to  human  hap- 
pinefs  by  the  ferenity  and  peace  which  it 
introduces  into  the  breall. 

It  frees  the  foul  from  the  mifrule  of  thofe 
turbulent  and  excefiive  paffions  that  agitate 
the  world  with  a  continual  temped.  The 
heart  thrown  into  tumult  by  ambition,  ava- 
rice, lull,  or  rage,  knov/s  no  reil,   .  Even  the 


On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion.       289 

attainment  of  its  objc6l  ferves  only  to  in- 
flame it  with  new  defires,  or  to  corrode  it 
with  new  cares.  "  The  wicked  are  like  the 
troubled  fea  when  it  cannot  reft,  whofe  wa- 
ters caft  up  mire  and  dirt — there  is  no 
peace,  faith  my  God,  to  the  wicked."* — • 
Many  of  the  ancient  fchools  of  phiiofophy 
teaching  tliat  thefe  painful  foliciiades  were 
neceffanly  attached  to  the  nature  of  the 
paffions,  it  was  the  aim  of  their  wife  man  to 
be  without  paffions,  in  order  that  he  might 
enjoy  within  himfelf,  a  conftant  and  unruf- 
fled calm.  His  temper  became  by  this 
means  auftere  and  unamiable.  If  he  was 
not  moved  by  the  intereils  of  the  world,  he 
was  often  negligent  of  its  decencies — if  lie 
was  not  difcompofed  by  the  injuries  of  men, 
he  took  no  il^.are  aifo  in  their  'fympathetic 
pleafures.  Religion  alFefts  not  that  phlegm- 
atic, or  that  four  temper.  But,  while  it 
gives  to  the  afieftions  that  moderate  indul- 
gence which  nature,  by  implanting  them  in 
the  breaft,  intended  they  ihouid  have,  and 
which  is  requifite,  both  to  pleafure,  and 
utility,  it  tempers  ilieir  a.vdor,  dire6LS  their 
force  to  lawful  objetts,  and  renders  them 
obedient  to  the  authority  of  real  on.    Kence 

■■*  IHiiah  Ivii.   20,  21. 

Oo 


2C)o        On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion* 

arifes  that  fweet  compofiire  and  ferenity  of 
mind.  To  necefTary  to  our  happinefs,  and 
equally  removed  from  the  uneafy  ftorms  ojf 
pafT^on,  and  an  indolent  infipidity  of  char- 
after.  Solomon,  who  had  thoroughly  tried 
the  intemp'rate  pleafures  of  vice,  and  the 
tranquil  enjoyments  of  piety,  gives  his  de- 
cided teftimony  in  favor  of  the  latter. — 
"  The  ways  of  wifdom  are  ways  of  pleafant- 
nefs,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace.'"* 

But  what  I  have  chiv-fly  in  view  in  fpeak- 
ing  of  the  peace  that  fprings  from  religion, 
is  that  which  arifes  from  the  untroubled  and 
felf-approving  confcience. 

Among  the  higheft  fatisfaftions  of  the 
mind,  are  the  confcioufnefs  of  innocence, 
and  reflrclion  on  a  well  fpent  life.  Vice, 
indeed,  often  appears  drefled  in  fmiles,  and 
wears  the  face  of  happinefs — but  a  worm 
w^ithin  fecretly  corrodes  and  cankers  its 
peace.  "  Like  the  crackling  of  thorns  un- 
der a  pot  fo  is  the  laughter  of  a  fool."  The 
blaze  is  foon  extinixuilhed  and  all  that  fol- 
lows  is  difappointment  and  fhame.     The 

*  Proverbs  iii.  17. 


On  the  Pleaficres  of  Rdigion,        291 

fmner  cannot  look  into  his  own  breaR  for 
that  clear  and  hving  fountain  of  joy  that 
continually  refrelhes  the  foul  of  a  good 
man  with  its  pure  flreams.  When  he  at- 
tempts to  turn  his  view  inward  he  difcerns 
nothiiicr  but  crimes  and  follies,  and  mi{<4-iv- 
ings,  and  fears.  Hardly  can  you  render 
him  more  unhappy  than  to  remove  him 
from  the  circle  of  dilTipation  and  to  leave 
him  alone  with  hirafelf.  Harraffed  by  the 
apprehenfions  and  feif-reproach  that  follow 
vice,  you  frequently  iee  him  take  refuge 
from  them  in  principles  of  impiety  and  im- 
morality. 

The  peace  of  a  good  man  arifes  from  a 
pure  confcience,  from  a  fenfe  of  forgiven 
fm,  and  an  humble  truft  in  the  mercy  of 
God.  The  forf-ivenefs  of  fm  relieves  the 
heart  from  an  immenfe  load.  The  inqui- 
etudes of  guilt  arefweetly  compofed  by  the 
hope  of  divine  mercy  exercifed  through  a 
Redeemer.  "  In  his  favour  is  life,  and  his 
lovinq:  kindnefs  is  better  than  life."  A  calm 
and  felf-approvingmind  affords  us  pleafures 
of  the  highefl  price,  not  only  from  the  in- 
ward ferenity  that  reigns  in  the  bofom  ;  but 
becaufc  it  flieds  its  own  faiisfa^lion'i  on  all 


292        On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion, 

things  clfe.  The  iiniverfe  takes  its  colour- 
ing, if  I  may  fpeak  i'o,  from  within  ourfelves. 
And  the  lawful  comforts  of  the  world  are 
tailed  with  infinitely  a  higher  relilh  when 
they  are  enjoyed  wdth  a  good  confcience. 
"  1  he  fruit  of  righteoufnefs  is  peace,  and 
the  effect  of  righteoufnefs,  quietnefs  and  ai- 
furance  forever.*'"^'  The  belt  of  men,  in- 
deed, are  liable  to  frailties  and  errors  that 
may  fometinies  diRurb  the  peace  of  their 
minds.  But  repentance  foon  refiores  theic 
ferenity.  And  when  its  tranfient  and  pre- 
cious ihowers  have  been  (lied  upon  the  foul, 
the  fun  of  righteoufiefs  again  breaks  forth, 
v/ith  greater  fpiendor  and  beauty,  from  the 
cloud  that,  for  a  moment  had  obfcured  his 
face.  Repentance  itfelf  is  not  without  its 
fatisfaftions  to  a  good  man.  There  is  a 
pleafure  even  in  the  tears  by  which  the 
heart  isdiiburdened  of  an  ingenuous  forrow. 

The  peace  derived  from  religion  difplays 
its  value  in  thofe  moments  chieily  wdien  we 
moft  require  fupport  and  confolation,  in 
ailiicLion,  and  at  death.  "  To  the  upright 
there  arifeth   lis^ht  in   darknefs.'f     ""iea. 


*   Ifaiah  xxxii.  17. 
f  Plalms  cxii.  4. 


On  the  Pleafiires  of  Religion.        293 

though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
fhadow  of  death,  yet  will  1  fear  no  ill  ;  for 
thou  art  with  me — thy  rod,  and  thy  ilaff, 
they  comfort  me."'-*  But  the  guilt  of  the 
fmner  feeins  to  lie  in  wait  for  him  at  thefe 
diftreiling  feafons.-f-  It  feizes  upon  him 
v/ith  redoubled  fury  when  he  is  already 
trembling  before  the  king  of  terrors  ;  and, 
when  he  is  leaft  able  to  endure  it,  torments 
him  with  the  greatcft  cruelty.  Guilt 
fpreads  a  deep  and  troubled  cloud  over  the 
mind  that  covers  it  with  a  difraal  Ihade,  and 
the  fpetlres  of  fear  and  terror  llalk  through 
the  gloom,  and  afiright  the  departing  fpi- 
rit.  Oh  !  the  unfpeakable  importance  of 
a  confcience  at  peace  with  illelf  and  with 
God  in  the  interePang  article  of  d)'ir!g  ! 
What  would  not  the  perilhing  fmner  give 
to  obtain  it  ?  For  what  would  the  trium- 
phant believer  be  willing  to  exchange  it  ? 
All  the  plcafures  of  vice,  were  they  at  the 
command  of  the  one,  or  of  the  other,  would 
be  counted  as  nothmg  in  the  fcale. 

IV.  Religion  affords  a  fource  of  haoDinefs 
that  is  always  within  our  power—that  is  lecure 

*  Pfalms  xxiii. 
t  TUlotfou. 


294       ^^^  ^^^  Pleafures  of  E^eligion. 

from  the  vicilTitudes  of  life— and  that  fiiali 
beeternaL — Seldom  are  the  fources  of  vi- 
cious pleafures  completeiy  vrithin  our  pow- 
er. Men  (ee  them  at  a  diitance,  and  al- 
moft  the  whole  of  Lfe  is  errjployed  in  pur- 
fuing  them.  But  how  often  do  they  elude 
purfuit,  or  difap point  poifeffion  !  Dithcult 
to  be  obtained,  they  are  conilantly  liable  to 
be  wrefted  from  us  by  a  violence  the  more 
painful  in  proportion  as  we  have  loved 
them,  or  expected  felicity  from  them.  Ihe 
pafiions  either  never  reach  their  objeft ,  or 
are  never  fatished  with  what  they  have  gain- 
ed. In  the  cares  of  accumulating  fortune, 
who  has  attained  the  fummit  of  his  wiihes  ? 
In  the  career  of  popularity,  or  ambition, 
how  many  mull  neceiTarily  be  thrown  out 
in  the  courfe  ?  And  thorny  and  uneafy  is 
the  crown  which  the  viclors  gain.  And, 
amidll  the  pleafures  of  unlawful  love,  what 
treachery  is  found !  wliat  inconflancy  ! 
v;hat  rivaUhips !  what  jealoufies !  v/hat  bafe 
deceptions  !  what  dilhonorabie  difguifes  ! 
and,  at  length,  what  confcious  Ihame  !  Is  it 
not  extreme  folly  for  a  reafonable  mind  to 
place  its  happinefs  in  obje6ls  over  which  it 
has  no  controul,  and  of  v/hich  the  greater 
part  are  beyond  its  reach  ? 


On  the  Pteafures  of  Religion.        295' 

A  good  man  carries  within  himfelf,  in 
the  purity  of  his  thoughts,  in  the  fanclity  of 
his  affections,  in  the  difcharge  of  his  duty, 
and  in  the  fenfe  of  the  divine  favor,  the 
fources  of  his  beft  enjoyments,  or  he  every 
where  finds  them  in  the  works  of  God  that 
are  always  open  to  his  view,  and  his  de- 
vout meditation.  From  all  the  uncertain 
purfuits,  and  perplexing  cares  of  the  world^ 
he  can  turn  inward  and  find  in  his  own 
breall,  an  unwaRing  fpring  of  confolation. 
And  wherever  he  diretts  his  viev/  he  cannot 
fail  to  meet  in  every  part  of  nature,  confpi- 
cuous  indications  of  the  infinite  power,  wif- 
dom  and  benignity  of  God.  The  univerfe 
is  animmenfe  temple  in  which  he  finds  fub- 
je6ls  continually  to  awaken  devotion,  and 
to  nourilh  the  fubiime  pieafures  of  religion. 
His  own  experience  unceafingly  brings 
home  to  his  heart  the  proofs  along  with  the 
fruits  of  the  divine  goodnefs.  And  the  fa- 
cred  fcriptures  furnifh  to  him  an  inexhauft- 
ed  treafure  of  the  moll  delightful  affeftions, 
and  the  mod  bleifed  hopes.  The  fources 
of  his  fupreme  happinefs,  therefore,  are  not, 
like  thofe  of  vice,  uncertain,  or  placed  be- 
yond his  controul :  They  are  always  v/ithin 
his  reach,  they  arc  ever  prefent,  and  he  caa- 


zg6      On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion. 

not,  by  any  untoward  accident,  be  deprived 
of  them. 

Tlie  comforts  that  flow  from  relip-ion  are 
alfo  fecure  from  the  viciffitudes  of  liie. — The 
men  who  have  conne6ted  their  happinefs 
too  clofelv  w^ith  the  prefent  world,  are  lia- 
ble  to  ail  its  inftabihiy  and  its  changes. 
They  are  expofed  continually  to  have  their 
deareO:  comforts  taken  from  them,  or  blall- 
ed  to  their  enjoyment.  Their  poifeiTions 
may  melt  away  in  their  hands,  or,  by  fome 
fudden  and  unforefeen  calamity,  may  be 
wreiled  from  them.  The  friends  who  were 
dearer  to  them  than  their  own  fouls  may  be 
torn  from  their  embrace.  It  may  pleafe 
God  to  lay  on  them  heavy  affiiftion,  and 
to  embitter  to  them  ail  the  fatisfa6tions  of 
the  world  ;  or  to  bury  the  v/orld  along  with 
them  in  the  grave.  The  grave  is  to  them 
a  land  of  darknefs  and  horror.  And  when 
the  world  is  gone,  gone  with  it  is  ail  their 
happinefs. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  divine  power 
forms  a  mighty  and  impenetrable  ihield 
over  a  good  man  beneath  which  he  walks 
fecure  amidil  all  the  evils  and  perils  that 


On  the  Pieafiires  of  Religion.        297 

cncompafs  his  mortal  ftate.     He  is  fubjeft 
to  external  changes  in  his  lot  as  others  are  ; 
but  his  happinefs  is  independent  on  them. 
It  lies  far  above  this  varying,  unliable  fcene, 
and  beyond  the  influence  of  its  viciflitudcs. 
Storms  and  tempefts  may  agitate  and  alllicl 
the  lower  world  ;  but  he  has  gained  an  ele- 
vated fituation  above   them  where  the  fun 
always  (hmes.     His  happinefs  partakes  of 
the  ferenity  of  Heaven,  and  the  unchangea- 
blenefs   of   God.     If   afflidions  aiikil  him 
they  tend   only  to  purify  his  heart,  and  to 
conned  him   more   clofely  with  his  chiet- 
^ood.     If  the  grave  receives  him,  God  is 
flill  his  portion.     It  is  not  a  gulph  that  bu- 
ries  his  pleafures,  or  his  hopes— it  is  the 
gate,  already  bleffed  by  his  Saviour's  pafTage 
through  it,  that  admits  him  to  the  full  fru- 
ition of  them.     Na)-,  when   not  this  frail 
tenement  of  clay  alone  fhaU  moulder  into 
duft,  but  when  the  univerfe  fliall  be  diffolv- 
ed  and  fall  in  ruins  ;  in  thp  laft  tremendous 
convulfions   of    nature,  the   good  man   is 
fafe.     The    almighty   power  of  God  will 
preferve  him,  and  plant  him  in  thofc  new 
heavens  and  that  new  earth  tliat   dial  I   arife 
out   of  the  chaos.— BleiTcd   portion!    hi^ 
Pp 


298        On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion, 

felicity  Cjall  be  fccure  from  all  viciflTitude-— 
and,  it  fnaii  be  eternal. 

The  rlchefl  treafure  of  religion  is  the 
alTured  expectation  of  a  bleffed  nnmortality. 
The  moll  comfortable  hope  of  the  fmner 
would  be  to  ceafe  to  exid  at  death,  and  to 
be  forever  blotted  out  of  the  works  of  God 
whofe  juftice  he  has  made  his  enemy.  Even 
this  difmal  confolation  is  denied  him,  and 
he  is  forced  to  tremble  with  fearful  appre- 
henhons  of  his  approaching  doom.  But 
when  vice  has  not  made  it  our  intereft  to 
feek  a  refuge  from  greater  mileries  in  anni- 
hilation, it  is  a  bottomlefs  gulph  into  which 
the  mind  looks  with  horror.  Life  derives 
a  new  and  augmented  relifli  from  the  ex- 
pe6lation  of  future  happinefs.  And  the 
profpefts  of  piety  beyond  the  grave  are  fil- 
led with  unutterable  '"onfolations.  *'  In  the 
prefence  of  God  is  fullnefs  of  joy,  and  at 
his  right  hand  are  pleafures  forever  more."* 
In  the  bofom  of  the  earth  fliall  be  depofited 
all  the  imperfetiions  of  human  nature. — 
The  body  ihali  arife  again  from  the  dull,  at 
the  lad  day,  adorned  with  immortal  beauty, 

*  PfaliTiS  :cvi. 


On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion.        259 

and  the  foul  (liall  be  furniihed  with  ccleflial 
powers.  Her  habitation  (hall  be  near  the 
throne  of  God,  in  the  manlions  of  angels, 
and  of  the  fpirits  of  juil  men  made  perfecl. 
Her  felicity  (liall  be  everlafting  like  the  na- 
ture of  God  from  w^hom  it  tiows.  As  it 
{hall  know  no  period,  it  fl:iall  alio  know  no 
change,  but  the  clianges  of  perpetual  im- 
provement. The  foul,  contemplating  thefe 
boundlefs  and  glorious  profpetts,  is  often 
loll  in  holy  tranlport.  The  pains  and  griefs 
of  life,  which  are  only  happening  to  us  the 
bleffed  moment  of  poifeirion,  lofe,  in  a  great 
meafure,  their  powder  to  alllift  us.  And  the 
terrors  of  the  grave  itfelf  are  forgotten  in 
the  drjire  of  the  believer  to  depart  and  be 
zoith  Clinji,  mokich  is  jar  better"  -'Amen! 
even  fo,  come  Lord  Jefus !" 

How  blefled,  tlien,  is  the  portion  of  thofe 
who  love  God,  and  are  found  in  the  Vv-ay  of 
his  commandments  !  "  Tlie  llatutes  of  the 
Lord  are  right  rejoicing  the  heart.  More 
to  be  defired  are  they  than  gold,  yea,  than 
much  fine  gold;  fweeter  alfo  than  honey  and 
the  honey-comb.  And  in  keeDinof  of  then^ 
there  is  great  reward.''^* 

*  Pfalms  xix.  S — lo,  ii. 


300        On  the  Pleafures  of  Religioji. 

The  truth,  to  the  illuftration  of  which  we 
have  attended,  forms  one  of  the  ilrongell 
recommendations  of  fincere  piety  to  every 
wife  and  reafonable  perfon.  The  great 
purfjit  of  man  is  happinefs.  And  in  rcli- 
o^ion  alone  is  it  to  be  found,  v/hich  hath  "  the 
promife  of  the  hfe  that  now  is,  and  of  that 
"which  is  to  come.' '"^  Experience  muft  have 
convinced  the  moft  of  you,  my  brethren, 
that  the  purfuits  of  the  w^orld,  and  the  paf- 
fions  that  conne6l  us  only  v^ith  '^he  vain  and 
fiu6tuating  things  of  time,  have  not  render- 
ed you  happy.  They  fed  you  v.dth  delu- 
five  hopes,  while  they  have  embittered  life 
•with  real  pains.  The  phantoms  of  joy 
glided  before  you.  And,  in  the  moment 
that  you  thought  you  were  about  to  em- 
brace them,  you  grafped  an  empty  flia- 
dow,  or  pierced  your  bofom  with  a  lafting 
lling.  If  pleafures  difappointed,  paffions 
corroded  the  heart.  Your  interefls  and  in- 
clinations have  been  continually  thwarted 
and  wounded  by  the  rival  intereits  and  in- 
clinations of  others.  But  religion  points 
out  to  you  a  peaceful  and  delightful  path 
in    which  no    interell  can    interfere    with 

*  I.  Timothy  iv.  8, 


On  the  Pleafures  cf  Religion.        301 

yours ;  for  the  intercfts  of  all  are  the  fame 
— no  corroding  paffion  can  wound  the  tran- 
quility of  your  bofom — no  flattering  joy- 
can  difappoint  you :  but  every  thing  in 
time  and  in  eternity,  on  earth  and  in  hea- 
ven {hall  concur  to  promote  your  felicity. 
Beyond  the  grave,  where  the  hopes,  and 
the  works  of  fmners  fhall  be  forever  con- 
fumed,  the  pleafures  of  piety  (hall  only  be- 
gin to  ripen,  and  attain  their  com  pleat  per- 
feftion.  The  primitive  beauties,  and  the 
innocent  delights  of  Paradife  fnall  be  rcftor- 
ed  with  boundlefs  increafe  in  that  celeflial 
Eden  into  which  Chrill  ihall  tranfplant  man 
redeemed  when  he  fhall  create  the  univerfe 
anew. 

On  the  whole  review  of  relitrion,  whe- 
ther  we  regard  the  future,  or  the  prefent, 
we  fnall  find  that,  in  keeping  the  coimnand- 
ments  of  God  there  is  great  rezoard — Chrif- 
tians!  cultivate  its  happy  temper  in  your 
own  fouls.  Invite  mankind  to  its  fervice 
by  the  image  of  its  happinefs  in  you.  Shew 
them  the  lair  examxpie  of  a  mind  at  peace 
with  itfelf,  and  Vvith  God ;  occupied  with 
pure  and  fpiritual  delights  as  much  above 
the  power  of  the  world  to  take  away  as  to 


302        On  the  Pleafures  of  Religion. 

bcftow ;  and  waiting,  with  tranquil  and 
cheerful  refignation,  the  bielTed  moment 
that  (hall  difiolve  its  ties  with  earth,  and 
trandate  it  to  a  glorious  and  immortal  fcatc 
of  felicity  in  the  Heavens. 

AMEN! 


[    303    ] 
DISCOURSE    XII. 

on    secret    faults. 

Psalm  cxix.   12. 
Cleanfe  thou  me  from  fecret  faults  ! 

HUMAN  Nature  is  covered  with  im- 
perfe6lion.  Confcience  daily  denoun- 
ces to  us  errors  and  follies  in  our  conduft, 
the  guilt  of  which  is  fo  (Irongly  marked, 
that  we  cannot  forbear  to  ackno^^'lege  and 
condemn  them.  But,  a  much  greater  num- 
ber, in  the  hafty  and  fuperficial  glance  which, 
in  the  midft  of  bufinefs,  or  of  pleafure,  we 
throw  on  life,  efeape  our  obfervation — 
many,  when  we  come  to  look  back  upon 
our  own  hi  (lory,  and  exam.ine  our  conduft, 
have  paffed  from  our  remembrance — and 
many  more  are  covered  from  the  cenfure 
of  our  own  minds  by  that  partiality  to 
whatever  is  attached  to  ourfelves  even  by  a 
remote  relation,  that  is  amone  the  mod 
dangerous  weakncifes  of  human  nature. — 


304  On  Secret  Faults. 

Sins  of  this  kind,  forgotten,  unobfcrved,  or 
juftified  and  covered  by  felf-lovc,  are,  by 
the   facred  writer  in  the  text,  denominated 

fecret  faults. 

As  it  is  of  high  importance  to  lay  open, 
as  far  as  pollible,  every  fource  of  humility 
that  fliould  affecl  a  ^ood  man  at  the  throne 
of  grace,  and  to  expofe  to  all  men  the  hid- 
den and  unfufpetted  errors  of  their  lives,  I 
(liall  endeavor,  in  the  prefent  difcourfe,  to 
difclofe  their  principal  caufes  and  fprings. 
From  each  of  thefe  v^^e  m.ay  derive  many 
fafts  and  truths  that  may  be  profitably  ap- 
plied for  the  examination  of  our  hearts,  and 
the  regulation  of  our  conduft.  They  may  be 
comprifed  under  the  heads  of  ignorance — 
of  felf-iove — of  a  corrupted  Hate  of  public 
manners — of  vicious  habits — and  of  falfe 
principles. 

I.  In  the  firil  place  ignorance  is  a  fruit- 
ful fource  of  faults  that,  from  their  very 
caufe  mud  be  unknown  to  ourfelves.  In 
an  uninformed  m.ind,  the  pallions,  uncon- 
troulcd  by  principle,  will  be  continually 
gathering  llrength — and  every  criminal  im- 
pulfe  hallens  to  its  objeB,  freed  from  thofe 


On  Secret  Faults.  305 

toly  and  powerful  reftraints  which  can  be 
impofed  upon  it  only  by  an  enlightened 
confcience.  Ignorance,  as  I  here  fpeak  of 
it,  refpeds  the  laws  of  duty,  and  the  fyflem 
of  divine  truth  contained  in  the  holy  fcrip- 
tures.  For  whatever  fcience  a  man  may 
poffefs,  if  his  knowledge  of  thefe  is  defe6live, 
his  heart  is,  in  the  fame  proportion,  laid 
open  to  the  influence  of  temptation,  and 
fubjefted  to  the  dominion  of  its  palFions. 
Sound  principles  of  divine  truth  early  re- 
ceived, and  permanently  fixed  in  the  mind, 
furniih  the  moft  effectual  motives  to  duty, 
and  form  the  ftrongeft  fences  of  virtue. — 
Ignorance  enfeebles  and  proftrates  both  the 
one  and  the  other.  It  infallibly  leads  to 
vice.  Make  for  it  the  moft  favorable  fup- 
pofition  that  it  is  the  fubjetl:  of  religious 
impreffion~it  is  liable  to  the  falfe  fervors, 
and  the  crimes  of  fanaticifm  which  it  exalts 
into  virtues,  or  it  finks  into  a  vain  difcharcre 
of  the  abfurd  and  ufelefs  rites  and  penances 
of  fuperftition,  which  it  makes  the  fubfti- 
tutes  of  duty,  and  the  expiation  of  its  fins. 
If  it  is  without  religious  impreffionjt  is  prone 
to  plunge  into  the  gulph  of  profligacy,  and 
to  abandon  itfelf  to  the  unrcftrained  indul* 
Qq 


go 6  On  Secret  Faults, 

gence  of  every  vice,  to  which  propenfity, 
example^  or  habit  invites.  Is  not  a  great 
part  of  the  reproachful  idlenefs,  the  grofs 
profanity,  the  (hamelefs  intemperance  and 
obfcenity  that  fo  often  difgrace  the  inferior 
orders  of  fociety,  and  offend  our  eyes,  and 
wound  our  ears  even  in  the  pubhc  {Ireets^ 
to  be  afcribed  to  that  defeft  of  principle 
and  inftruftion  that  leaves  the  mind  with- 
out a  clear  light  to  guide  its  conduft,  or  a 
faithful  monitor  to  reilrain  its  excefies  ? 
Thofe  who  are  leall  informed,  indeed,  can- 
not be  wholly  ignorant  of  the  evil  of  thefe 
vices,  but,  unacquainted  with  the  holinefs 
and  extent  of  the  divine  law,  the  high  de- 
gree of  their  criminality  is,  in  a  great  mea- 
sure, unknown  to  them.  They  are  covered 
with  the  guilt  ofjecrct/aidts,  and  are  fink- 
ing into  perdition,  unconfcious  of  the  load 
that  is  pielhng  them  down.  Will  igno- 
rance, according  to  the  falfe  hopes  of  fm- 
ners,  exculpate  the  confcience  ?  Invincible 
ignorance  might ;  but  ignorance  of  duty  in 
the  midft  of  our  lights,  arifing,  as  it  does, 
from  a  criminal  abufe  of  reafon,  or  a  crimi- 
nal nede6l  of  the  means  of  inform,  at  ion, 
can  only  aggravate  the  guilt  of  our  offences. 
But  fms  of  ignorance,  and  this  is  a  truth 


On  Secret  FaidU.  307 

that,  in  a  particular  manner,  claims  the  at- 
tention of  every  ferious  mind,  are  not 
chargeable  on  the  proiiigate  and  uninilruc- 
ted  alone,  but,  from  the  imperfeciion  of 
human  nature,  adhere,  in  a  degree,  to  the 
bed  of  men,  and  furnilli  a  fubjett  of  humili- 
ty to  the  moll  eminent  faints — fins  that 
fpring  from  infirmity  or  negleft  by  which  a 
thoufand  fugitive  thoughts  efcape  attention, 
a  thoufand  habitual  ideas  and  emotions  rife 
in  the  heart  and  pafs  avv^ay  again  without 
■ever  being  examined,  or  compared  with  the 
great  (landard  of  duty  jn  the  word  of  God. 
i>ins  that  arife  from  partial  and  limited 
views  of  the  extent  and  fandity  of  the  di- 
vine law,and  finally,  fins  that  ariie  from  min- 
gling with  the  law  of  God  the  errors  of  our 
own  reafon,  or  the  prejudices  of  a  miftaken 
education.  "  Who  can  underlland  his  er- 
rors ?"  The  veil  that  covers  the  heart  is 
fometimes  lifted  up,  and  we  difcern  in  our- 
felves  evils  that  we  had  not  fufpe6led.  But 
when  we  have  feen  all  that  human  vreaknefs 
ever  fees,  innumerable  vain  thoughts  will 
iliil  lodge  within  us  undifcovered,  and  form 
a  fubject  of  daily  humility  and  repentance 
at  the  throne  of  grace. 


3oS  On  Secret  Faults. 

II.  Another  fource  of  fecret  faults  is  found 
in  the  dangerous  influence  of  felf-love. 

"  The  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  thins^g, 
and  defperately  wicked,  who  can  know  it?'* 
Its  deceitfulnefs  has  been  a  fubjeft  of  com- 
plaint to  good  men  in  all  ages.  Hardly  is 
there  a  foible,  or  a  vice  of  chara8:er  which 
it  is  not  able  to  palliate,  or  to  conceal. 
Daily  v/e  fee  it  exemplified  in  the  difcour- 
fes  and  conduft  of  others,  and  they,  doubt- 
lefs,  perceive  it  in  us.  But,  in  innumera- 
ble inftances,  its  effeds  are  fo  fubtle  that 
neither  they  nor  we  difcern  them. — Every 
propenfity  of  nature,  in  proportion  to  its 
Ilrength,  furniflies  us  with  proofs  of  this  in- 
fluence ;  but,  of  all  the  principles  of  felf- 
deceit  pleafure  is  the  molt  powerful,  and 
opens  the  wideft  field  for  thofe  impohtions 
which  men  are  daily  paffing  upon  them- 
felves.  They  are  eafily  deceived  where 
they  already  wifh  to  be  deceived.  Whate- 
ver yields  them  pleafure  they  are  ftudious 
to  iuftify.  All  the  falacies  of  reafon  are 
muftered  up  to  defend  the  favorite  indul- 
gence, and  to  overcome  thofe  fcruples  that 
fill  the  mind,  and  oppofe  themfelves  to  the 
firfl  approaches  of  vice.     And  no  conclu- 


On  Secret  Faults.  309 

fions  ought  we  to  fufpecl  more  than  thofe 
which  after  much  thought  and  attention, 
we  finally  drew  on  the  lide  of  our  inclina- 
tions. The  greater  pains  we  have  taken, 
the  more  various  the  lights  to  which  we 
have  turned  the  favorite  idea,  and  the  more 
fubtlety  and  refinement  we  have  ufed  in 
framing  our  ultimate  judgment  on  the  cafe, 
the  farther,  perhaps,  we  have  erred  from 
the  truth.  Thefe  anxious  refearches,  thefe 
ingenious  reafonings,  inftead  of  being  a  fair 
and  candid  enquiry  after  truth,  may  be  no- 
thing more  than  the  efforts  which  felf-Iove 
is  making  to  juffify  indulgence.  There  is 
fcarcely  any  degree  of  guilt  which  this  prin- 
ciple will  not  cover  or  excufe.  "  All  the 
ways  of  a  man  are  right  in  his  own  eyes.'"' 
Hence  the  fcience  of  felf-knowlege  is  ren- 
dered above  all  others  difficult  and  obfcure : 
and  however  deeply  we  may  penetrate  the 
mijtery  of  iniquity  in  our  hearts,  an  unfa- 
thomable abyfs  will  ftill  remain  in  the  er- 
rors and  the  blind nefs  of  a  diOioneft  felf- 
love,  which  we  can  never  fufficiently  ex- 
plore. 

III.  General  example,  likewifc,  frequent- 
ly contributes  to  render  our  faults  lecret. 


310  On  Secret  Faults, 

and  unknown  to  ourfelves,  by  taking  off 
from  the  mind  that  imprelhon  of  guilt,  or 
aoatmg  that  fentiraent  of  abhorrence  which 
vice  is  apt  to  produce  when  it  is  more  rare- 
ly feen. 

In  confequence  of  thatmyflerious  fympa- 
thy  by  which  men  are  drawn  together,  and 
formed  on  each  others  charaftcr  and  model, 
they  Hide  infenfibly  into  manners  that  are 
continually  prefented  to  view  in  the  public 
example.  Cudom  they  confound  in  their 
ideas  with  propiety.  And,  in  a  thoufand 
inftances,  we  daily  fee  folly  lofe  its  imper- 
tinence, and  frivolity,  deformity,  and  even 
vice  ceafe  to  difgufl  when  recommended  and 
juftihed  by  fafiiion.  The  beft  of  men  fre- 
quently perceive  their  zeal  for  the  glory  of 
God,  and  the  highefl  interefts  of  human 
nature,  languiih  through  the  lukewarmnefs 
and  formality  that  have  invaded  the  great 
body  of  their  fellow-chriftians.  They  con- 
trail fome  taint  in  their  own  manners  from 
the  general  licence  in  the  midll  of  which 
they  live.  "  Becaufe  iniquity  abounds  the 
love  of  many  waxes  cold."  If  they  have 
been  accuilomcd  to  fee  the  fabbath  violated, 
do  they  not  with  lefs  fcruple,  themfelves  ia- 


On  Secret  Faults,  91 1 

fringe  upon  its  holy  reft  ?  If  they  are  fur- 
rounded  by  fcenes  of  levity  and  diftipation, 
frequented  by  thofe  with  whom,  on  other 
grounds,  they  are  in  the  habits  of  intimacy 
are  they  not  liable  to  fufier  from  the  con- 
tagion of  that  contaminated  fociety  ?  If 
they  habitually  hear  the  facred  name  of 
the  Majeily  of  Heaven  infulted  and  pro- 
faned, is  not  the  horror  of  the  cuftoma- 
ry  impiety  leflcned  in  their  efteem  ?  Is  not 
the  fpirit  of  the  world,  by  the  force  of  num- 
bers and  example,  making  daily  inroads 
upon  the  pure  and  heavenly  fpirit  of  piety  ? 
The  confcience  is  rendered  lefs  fcrupulous 
and  tender  by  the  frequency  of  feeing  vice. 
Indulgences  that  will  not  bear  the  rigorous 
teft  of  reafon  and  the  word  of  God  come  at 
laft  to  be  regarded  merely  as  innocent  com- 
pliance with  the  manners  of  the  world. 
Numbers  and  faihion  become  a  kind  of 
pledge  for  the  innocence  of  every  praftice 
upon  v/hichthey  imprefs  their  ftamp.  Man- 
kind are  prone  to  judge  of  the  truth  of  opin- 
ions, and  the  propriety  of  conduft  more 
from  cuftom  than  from  reafon — more  from 
the  example  of  others  than  from  the  refults 
of  their  own  ferious  inveftigation,  and  the 
intimate  conviclion  of  their  own  breads. — 


212  On  Secret  Faults, 

From  this  error  good  men  are  not  wholly 
exempted ;  and  example  becomes  even  to 
them,  and  much  more  to  others,  a  fruitful 
fource  oi  Jccret  faults.  "  Evil  communi- 
cation corrupts  good  manners,"  and,  at  the 
fame  time,  hides  the  corruption  from  the 
eye  of  confcience.  The  greater  part  of  the 
world  follow  juft  as  they  are  led — a6iive 
minds  prevail  over  the  indolent,  and  the 
darinor  over  the  weak — and  the  multitude 
of  fmners  rehgn  their  confcience  and  then' 
conduft  to  the  direction  of  men  more  cri- 
minal than  themfelves.  Ah !  it  is  not  by  the 
cuiloms  of  men  but  by  the  law  of  God  that 
we  fhould  judge  our  hearts.  How  many  fms, 
that  are  now  hidden  from  our  view  by  the 
predominant  influence  of  cuflom  and  exam- 
ple, will  be  difclofed  to  us  by  afriiftion  that 
llrips  the  falfe  and  feductive  colouring  from 
the  world — by  the  approach  of  death  that 
draws  forth  from  beneath  every  covering 
and  difguife  the  inmofl  principles  of  the 
heart — by  the  penetrating  light  of  eternity 
that,  fhed  upon  the  foul  in  the  article  ot 
dying,  fearches  and  reveals  its  deepcft,  and 
its  darkeft  receffcs.  Oh  !  how  vain  are  the 
opinions  and  example  of  men,  which  are 
made  the   encouragement  and  juftification 


On  Secret  Faults.  313 

oF  fo  many  faults,  when  weighed  againfl  the 
lawandthejudgmentofGod.  Agood  man, 
fenfible  of  his  fraiUy  and  his  danger,  will 
daily  confcfs  and  deplore  the  evils  that  may 
be  concealed  from  his  view  by  this  unhap- 
py influence,  and  will  fludiouily  difentangle 
truth  from  the  vain  fafhions  of  opinion, 
and  of  manners  with  which  it  is  combined, 
and  by  which  it  is  diilorted.  But,  iinners, 
reding  upon  the  multitude  of  their  fellow 
fmners,  are  contented  to  wrap  themfelves 
up  in  a  fatal  fecurity  till  God  comes  at 
length  to  rent  the  veil  that  covers  their 
crimes,  and  to  (bed  upon  them  the  dreadiuj. 
and  confuming  light  of  his  juflice. 

IV.  Another  caufe  of  fecret  faults  may 
be  found  in  the  effefcls  of  habit. 

Propenfities  or  a£lions  that  have  become 
habitual  we  are  apt  to  confound  Vv'ith  the 
original  tendencies  of  nature,  and,  equally, 
to  afcribe  them  to  t-lie  author  of  our  being. 
They  operate  almofl  without  our  thinking 
of  them  ;  and  m.en  feldom  take  the  pains  to 
examine  their  reditude,  or  their  relations 
to  the  divine  lav/.  If  any  faults,  therefore, 
have  gradually  grown  up  With  them,  and 

Rr 


314  ^^  Secret  Faults, 

become  incorporated  into  their  manners^ 
they  are  rarely,  and  with  dilhcuky  cured— 
they  are  hardly  ieen  as  ftiults. 

Habits  advance  by  fach  infenfible  degrees 
that  It  is  diliicult  to  remark  their  progrefs. 
Theyiiealus  imperceptibly  av/ay  from  the 
fountain  of  truth,  and  the  ilandard  of  per- 
fection. And  when  once  we  begin  to  yield 
to  the  tendencies  of  corrupted  nature,  or  to 
the  ilream  of  fafiiionable  vice,  even  good 
men  may  fometimes  be  borne  far  down  the 
filent  and  contaminated  current  before  they 
are  aware,  till  fome  palpable  mifcarriage 
awaken  their  deeping  confcience,  and  ob- 
lige them  to  remount  to  the  fource  of  the 
evil  in  order  to  purify  it.  David  could  not 
have  paifcd  at  once  from  thofe  fublime  and 
pious  fervors  that  glow  in  his-  facred  com- 
pofitions,  and  fiill  animate  the  devotions  of 
the  church,  to  that  aft  of  grofs  fenfuality 
and  injullice  that  was  the  iiain  of  his  life, 
and  embittered  to  him  the  remainder  of  his 
days  :  gradually  he  niufh  have  yielded  to 
the  temptations  of  his  fortune — the  habits 
of  pleafure  muil  have  infenfibly  ftolen  upon 
him,  till,  in  an  unfufpeCting  moment,  they 
plunged  him  into  the  gulph,  and,  by  his  mi- 


On  Stcreb  Faults. 


315 


Feries,  recalled  Iiim  to  himfelf,  and  reviored 
the  obliterated  fcntiraents  oi'  duty  on  his 
heart. 

Habit  has  likewifca  pafTive  influence  up- 
on the  foul  that  greatly  contributes  to  this 
dangerous  cffed.  Of  this  ini'iuence  every 
day  furnidies  us  with  innumerable  proofs. 
Cultoniary  appearances  attract  little  atten- 
tion, and  cuilomary  aciions  are  performed 
almod  without  thougrht.  Hence  vices* 
which  are  common  in  fociety,  and  which 
enter  into  the  character  and  manners  of  a 
people,  come,  at  length,  to  be  viewed  with 
a  kind  of  indifference  even  by  a  good  man, 
which  may  expofe  him,  at  fome  times,  to  be 
betrayed  into  criminal  compliances  with 
them.  Hence  faults  that  have  entered  into 
f>  our  own  habits  are  ilightly  remarked,  if  they 
are  remarked  at  ail,  and  they  fpeedily  pafs 
into  an  oblivion  from  which  they  are  never 
recalled.  Thefe  forgotten  hns,  however, 
leave  upon  the  confcience  an  indelible 
taint ;  and,  not  improbably,  prove  the  caufe 
of  many  of  thofe  ftrokes  and  chailifcxments  ni 
the  courfe  of  divine  providence  of  which 
we  do  not  difccrn  the  immediate  caufe,  nor 
the  end. 


3i6  On  Secret  Faults, 

V.  Another  and  much  more  pernicious 
fource  of  fauks  of  this  kind  is  to  be  found 
in  falfe  principles. 

The  innocence  of  error,  fays  a  great  wri- 
ter,"^'  is  the  mafter  prejudice  of  the  prefent 
age.  And  a  falfe  and  dangerous  maxim 
has,  perhaps,  been  too  generally  received^ 
that  it  is  of  fmall  moment  yAiat  principles  in 
morals  and  religion  men  may  embrace,  it  is 
condvM  alone  which  v/e  are  to  regard ;  as 
if  condu6l  could  be  fafely,  or  was  in  reality 
ever  feparated  from  principles.  It  is  a 
truth  eftabiilhed  upon  the  founded;  reafon, 
and  demonftrated  by  condant  experience, 
that  praftice  and  principles  have  a  clofe 
and  intimate  relation,  and  a  powerful  in- 
fluence upon  one  another.  Whole  nations 
have  had  their  charafter  and  manners  form-  S( 
ed  by  the  fpirit  of  their  legiflation,  and  the 
maxims  of  their  education.  And  certain 
doftrines  are  daily,  among  the  wife  and 
learned,  vindicated  or  refuted  by  the  con- 
fequences  that  are  fuppofed  to  refult  from 
them.  Do  we  not  fee  that  loofe  manners 
and  licentious  opinions  tend  to  beget  one 

*  Warburton,  Bifhop  of  Gloucefter. 


On  Secret  Faults.  317 

raiotlier  ?     The  corruption  of  manners  a_ 
inong  the  Greeks   and  Romans,  in  the  de- 
chne  of  their  republicSj  gave  univerfal  ex- 
tenfion  to  the  dilfolute  doclrines  of  the  epi- 
curean philofophy — and  it  is  acknowledged 
by  their  own  writers  that  the  prevalence  of 
that  philofophy  hallened  and  augmented 
the  degeneracy  of  the  public  morals/*    The 
fame  voluptuous  principle.;,  with  little  va- 
riation, have  been  revived  in  modern  times, 
and  the  fame  pernicious  effe6ts  have  relult- 
ed  from    them.     Judge  ye  what   manners 
will  be  produced  by  that  fyilem  which  re- 
prefents   man  as   being  merely    an  organ- 
ized fyfiem  of  matter  made  to  perilh  and 
be  reproduced  under  other  forms  like  fuc- 
cefiive  crops  of  vegetables,  the  fole   end 
of  whofe  being,  and  the   only  reafonable 
||,  objeft  of  whofe  purfuit  is  fenfual  pleaiure.t 
Every  reftraint  is,  by  fuch  dodrines,  remov- 
ed from  the  pafiions,  every  encouragement 
is  given  to  vice.     To  what  purpofe  are  the 
felf-denials  of  virtue  if  we  perifli  forever  af 
death,and  if  we  (hall  meet,  beyond  the  grave, 
with  no  reward  worthy  of  its  facriiices  ?  If 

*  See  particularly   Folybius  book  vi.   for  an  account  of 
its  effed  among  the  Greeks. 
f  Helvetius. 


3i8  On  Secret  Faults. 

appetite  alone  fornifhes  the  chief  good  of 
man,  hov/  (liouid  honor,  friendfhip,  juttice, 
or  religion,  fland  in  the  way  of  its  gratifica- 
tion ?  Such  falfe  and  pernicious  princioles 
tend,  not  only  to  promoie  vice ;  they  co- 
ver and  proteft  it  likewife  from  the  ccn- 
fureofour  own  conlcience.  Would  you 
fee  in  its  extent  the  criminal  conduct  that 
may  fpring  from  a  brutal  philofophy  that 
thus  fenfualizes  the  foul  ? — Examine  thehif- 
tory  of  thofe  men  who  have  been  its  moft 
zealous  and  diilinguifhed  advocates.  Grofs 
and  Ihameful  often  is  their  public  condud  - 
but  their  fecret  hiilory  piefents  fccnes  of 
vice,  from  which  piety  and  virtue  mull:  turn 
away  with  horror.  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  licentioufnefs,  the  hypocrify,  the  bafe- 
nefs,  the  treachery,  the  cruelty,  the  total  de- 
reliction of  humanity  and  virtue,  of  which  f 
many  of  the  adepts  of  an  impious  philofo- 
phy have  fnewn  themfelves  to  be  capable.'** 
Yet,  in  their  principles  do  they  find  the  juf- 
tification  of  their  crimes,  and  they  feem  to 
poifefs   the  fatal   art  of  perfuading   theni- 

*  Seethchiftsryofthe  illuniinatti  inCcrmanyand  France, 
by  John.  Robifon,  proMbr  of  Nat.  Phil,  in  the  univerilty  of 
Euinburg  ;  a  work  that  defcrves  to  be  read  by  every  friend 
to  virtue  and  religion,  Vvho  is  Ibliciious  to  penetrate  into  ihc 
caufes  of  the  prefcnt  preralcnce  of  vice  vind  infidelity. 


On  Secret  Faults,  319 

felves  of  tlieir  own  innocency.  As  one  ex- 
ample, let  me  call  to  your  recollection  a 
work  but  too  well  known,  and  yet,  among 
the  lealt  criminal  of  thofe  efforts  that  have 
lately  been  made  to  corrupt  all  moral  prin- 
ciples— I  mean  the  confejjions  of  RonJJeaii, 
They  exhibit  to  us  innumerable  follies,^  the 
eternal  caprices  of  a  reftiefs,  hckle,  and  un- 
governable temper,  the  culpable  fruits  of 
paffions  always  exceffive,  many  very  low, 
and  many  very  ftiameful  vices.  Yet,  we 
fee  him,  in  the  introduftion  of  that  extra- 
ordinary recital,  prefume,  with  an  audacity 
that  (hocks  the  pious  mind,  to  prefent  the 
hiflory  of  his  infamy  at  the  throne  of  the 
eternal,  andtojuilify  his  crimes  to  his  crea- 
tor and  his  judge  who  had  given  him  his 
pafTions.  *•'  Let  the  iaft  trumpet,  faith  he,, 
found  when  it  will,  I  will  advance  with  this 
book  in  my  hand,  to  prefent  myfelf  before 
the fupreme  judge — I  will  boldly  fay,  behold 
what  i  have  done  !  Here  is  what  I  thought! 
this  is  what  I  have  been  !" — This  man's  prin- 
ciples mufl;  have  formed  to  him,  the  jufti- 
hcation  of  fo  many  crimes — They  muil:,  at 
Icaft,  have  concealed  from  him  their  tur- 
pitude and  guilt,  or  he  could  not  have  dar- 


320  On  Secret  Faults. 

ed,  with  fucli  fhamelefs  honefly,  to  blazon 
his  difgrace  before  the  face  of  the  world. 

Men,  who  are  not  feeking  apologies  for 
their  vices,  may,  under  a  miflaken  fenfe  of 
duty,  be  guilty  of  high  oflFcnces  againll  piety 
and  agaiiift  humanity.  "  Tlie  time  fhall 
come,  laid  the  Saviour  to  his  difciples,  when 
he  that  killeth  you  Ihall  think  that  he  doth 
God  fervice."  And  the  apoftle  Paul,fpeaking 
of  himfeif  before  he  had  embraced  the  faith 
of  the  gofpel,  fays,  "  I  verily  thought  with 
myfelf  that  loit^/i/^  to  do  many  things  contra- 
ry to  the  nameof  Jefus  of  Nazareth/'  Much 
more  are  they  liable  to  errors  in  their  condu6l 
ofinferior  moment  from  the  falfe  principles 
which  the  frailty  of  reafon  and  the  prejudi- 
ces of  education  frequently  mingle  with  the 
religious  fyftems  of  the  beft  of  men. — They 
maintain,  perhaps,  the  bafis  of  divine  truth; 
but  they  ere6l  upon  it  a  fuperflru^iure,  in 
many  inftances,  incorporated  with  errors  of 
greater  or  lefs  magnitude.  In  whatever 
degree  fuch  errors  exift,  in  the  fame  pro- 
portion is  the  spirit  of  their  piety  impaired, 
and  the  fyftem  of  their  virtues  rendered  im- 
perfeft.  According  to  the  figure  of  the 
apollle,  if  they  build  on  the  f olid  foundation 


On  Secret  Faults*  321 

ofthegofpel,  wood,  hay,  Jluhhlc,  that  is,  any 
erroneous  principles  that  lead  to  an  unho- 
ly prafliice,  their  loorks  Jliall  be  burnt,  but 
ihemftlves  Jhall  befaved  yet  Jo  as  by  fire — the 
fire  iliall  confume  all  the  falfe  additions 
that  have  been  made  to  this  rock  of  ages 
which  fupports  the  faith  and  hope  of  every 
real  believer.  Yet,  till  the  day  when  the 
fire  (hail  try  them,  the  miilaken  profefTors 
of  the  gofpel  may  not  only  remain  blind  to 
the  imperfeftions  of  their  own  charatler, 
but  even  flatter  themfelves  with  the  idea  of 
their  innocence  or  their  merit. — Ah!  who 
,  can  underlland  his  errors  !  Cieanfe  thou 
me  from  fecret  faults  ? 

As  the  clafs  of  evils  of  which  I  have  been 
treating  is  capable  of  being  fo  much  increaf- 
cd  by  ignorance  of  our  duty,  and  of 
the  innumerable  and  delicate  relations 
which  we  fuftain  to  our  Creator,  and  to  one 
another,  permit  me,  in  the  remarks  wdiich  I. 
defign  to  make,  in  the  conclufion  of  this 
difcourfe,  to  call  your  attention,  in  the  firft 
place,  to  the  importance  of  early  inftrudion 
upon  thelb  neceffary  fubjePts. — Men,  in  the 
beginning  of  Hfe,  and  before  their  habits 
are  formed,  more  frequentlv  fail   in  their 

S  s 


322  Gn  Secret  Faults. 

duty  from  want  of  information,   than  front 
any  natural  malignity  of  heart.     It  is  only 
a  mind  that  has  already  made  conhderable 
progrefs  in  vice  that  can  deliberately  violate 
its  own  clear  and  certain  fentiments  of  right 
and    wrong.     An  enUghtened    confcience 
impofcs  the  moil   eifettual  reilraints  upon 
the   paiTions,  which  are   the  principles   of 
evil  in  man.     It  unfolds  the   law  on  each 
cafe  of  conduft  as  it  arifes,  and  adds  to  the 
prefcriptions  of  duty,  the  moR  powerful 
motives  of  obedience.      Hence  it  is  that 
faith,  not,  as  the  enemies  of  rehgion  aflert, 
a  bhnd  belief  of  uncertain  fa6ls,  and  unin- 
telhgle  rayiteries,  but  a  clear  underllanding, 
and  iirm  perfuafion  of  the  truths  of  the  gof- 
pel,  is  laid,  by  the  apoftles,  at  the  founda- 
tion of  a  good  life,  and  thereby  made  the 
condition  of  our  falvation.     The  moil  inti- 
mate   relations  fubfiil    between   duty    and 
truth — And  the  principal  value  of  truth  is 
that  it  leads  to  duty. 

This  courfe  of  education  faould  com- 
mence from  our  earliell  years.  The  human 
character  is  forming  from  the  firfl  moment 
the  ienfes  begin  to  act.  And  it  is  ot  high 
confequence  that  nothmg  but  the  moil  juil 


On  Secret  Fait  Its.  323 

ideas,  and  the  purefl  principles  of  truth 
{h.ould  be  inftilled  into  the  minds  of  chil- 
dren, and  the  mod  amiable  examples  of 
virtue  exhibited  before  them.  "  Train  up 
a  child  in  the  way  he  Ihould  go,  and  when 
he  is  old  he  v/ill  not  depart  from  it."  "  I'he 
word  of  God  Vvill  be  a  light  to  his  feet  and 
a  lamp  to  his  path."  *•'  It  is  like  a  fire,  and 
like  a  hammer  that  brcaketh  the  rock  in 
pieces" — it  will  dillolve  it  and  mould  it  inio 
any  fir  ape. 

The  defect  of  early  inftruclion  in  the 
principles  of  piety  and  virtue  is  produtlive 
of  great  and  innumerable  evils.  The  pro- 
phet Hofea  attributes  to  it  the  corruption 
of  manners  in  the  nation  of  Ifrael ;  and.  after 
an  affefting  enumeration  of  their  crimes,* 
he  adds,  '•'  my  people  are  deftroyed  for  lack 
of  knowlege." — Both  age  and  youth  which 
would  make  progrefs  in  the  honourable 
courfe  of  virtue,  and  finally  attain  ioperJeB 
hoimcfs  in  the  Jeer  of  God,  ihould  diligently 
fearch  thcfcriptures,  and  ftudy,  by  all  means, 
to  enlarge  their  acquaintance  with  thefe 
pure  and  infallible  oracles  of  truth.     Let 

*  Hofca  iv.   I — 6. 


o 


24  On  Secret  Faults, 


them  be  your  vieditaiion  all  the  day  ;  and, 
Irom  their  precious  ftorcs  of  knov/lege  and 
in{lru£lion  draw  all  the  rules  of  your  con- 
duel. 

2.  The  tendency  of  felf-love  to  deceive 
us   in  the  ediinate  which  we  make  of  our 
own  chara6ier,  and  to  cover  many  errors  in 
our  condu8;,  renders  it  neceffary  that  we 
fhould  often  enter  profoundly  into  the  prin- 
ciules  of  the  healrt,  and  the  motives  of  our 
actions,  and  that  we  (iiould  be   able  to  dif- 
criminate   the  charafters  of  genuine   piety 
from  ail  the  falfe  pretences,  and  plaufible 
appearances  of  virtue   with  which  we  are 
prone  to  confound  them.     By  a  candid  and 
faithful  examination  of  ourfeives  wc  may  be 
able  to  difcover  and   correft  many  fecret 
faults  that  w^ould  otherwife  dehle  the  con- 
fcience.    For  this  purpofe,  often  retire  apart 
from  the  world  where  felf-love  is  ftrengthen- 
ed  by  every  obje6l  that  awakens  the  paf- 
fions,  and  where  cares  and  pleafures   con- 
tinually  call   us    out   of  ourfeives.     Fre-  _ 
quently  feek  that  holy  folitude,  in  order  to 
converfe  with  your  hearts,  where  none  fliall 
be  prefent  behdes   God   and  yourfelves. — 
Strengthen  there  your  own  honed y  in  this 


On  Secret  Faults,  325 

important  duty  by  the  confcioufners  of  his 
pure  and  infpccting  eye,   and  by  the  recol- 
le6lion  of  the  account  which  we  muft  ren- 
der at  his  bar.     Judge  yourfelves  with  the 
fame  fpirit  with  which  you  ftiall  be  judged. 
It  is  a  duty  prefcribed  by  reafon,  as  well  as 
enjoined  by  the  word  of  God.     Know  thy- 
Jeif  was  the  moit  flunous  maxim  of  ancient 
wifdom — and,  in  fuch  eftimation  was  it  held 
by  the  mod  enlightened  people  in  the  uni- 
verfe  that  they  infcribed  it  over  the  entrance 
to  the  moft  fiacred  of  their  temples. '^^     The 
holy  fcriptures  prefs  and  repeat  it  again  and 
again — "  Exarame  yourfelves  whether  you 
be  in  the  faith — prove  your  own  felves — 
know  ye  not  your  own  felves  hov/  that  Jefus 
Chriil  is  in  you  except  ye  be  reprobates  ?'* 
It   is    a  duty   abfolutely  requifrte   in  order 
to  underftand  our  fecret  Jaults,  and  to  re- 
move that  maik   from   the  heart  by  which 
the  power  of  felf-deceit  is  able  to  conceal 
from  men  their  true  charaftev.     Search  and 
try  your  ways — and,  in  fulfilling  this  great 
duty,  remember  that  you  (liall  fliortly  be 
tried  at  a  higher  bar  by  the  righteous  judge 
of  quick  and  dead.     And  do  thou  O  Lord 

*'  The  temple  at  Delphi. 


326  On  Secret  Faults, 

mercifully  reveal  to  us  the  faults  that  will 
ftill  be  covered  from  our  own  view  !  Search 
us,  and  know  our  hearts,  try  us,  and  knozu  our 
thoughts,  and  fee  if  there  be  any  wicked  zoay  in 
us,  and  Lead  us  in  the  way  cverlajting. 

3.  The  refleftions  to  which  you  have  at- 
tended admooiOi  you  likewife  to  be  on 
your  guard  againfl  the  dangerous  influence 
of  faiiiion  and  example.  Fafhion  draws 
after  it  manners  and  opinions  by  a  filent 
and  powerful  charm.  And  each  age  has 
its  peculiar  modes  of  thinking  and  atling. 
Whatever,  therefore,  is  recommended  by 
general  example  we  ought  to  examine  with 
peculiar  fcrupulofity,  not  only  becaufe  we 
are  prone  to  Hide  into  the  imitation  of  it 
with  an  incautious  facility,  but  becaufe  ge- 
neral manners,  in  the  prefent  age,  have  de- 
parted far  from  the  purity  andfimpHcity  of 
the  cTofpel.  The  dream  of  falhion  feems, 
indeed,  to  a  certain  diftance,  to  co-incide 
with  that  of  piety  and  virtue  ;  but  then  in- 
fenfibly  feparating  from  it,  it  bears  avray 
thofe  who,  without  caution,  commit  them- 
feives  to  its  current.  Scrutinize  all  your 
actions,  not  by  what  others  do,  or  permit, 
but  by  the  word  of  God,  which  is  the  infal- 


On  Secret  Faults. 


327 


libleteft  ofre6litude  and  truth. — Ah  !  how 
often,  in  this  period  of  general  Hcence,  and 
relaxation  of  morals,  hath  a  fecret  infection 
reached  your  hearts  from  that  contamina- 
ted influence  in  the  midft  of  which  you  live? 
How  often  hath  the  fpirit  of  the  w^orld,  car- 
ried into  your  moil  holy  devotions,  left  the 
heart  Hill  barren  and  cold  at  the  throne  of 
grace?  How  often  have  criminal,  or,  doubts 
ful  compliances  with  its  manners  left  a  fe- 
cret taint  upon  the  confcience,  and  invited 
others  to  receive  with  indifference  or 
contempt  a  religion  that  departed  fo  little 
from  their  own  habits  ? — Learn  then  to  fear 
the  infeftious  commerce  of  the  world — Re- 
'  tire  from  the  midfl  of  that  example,  and  of 
thofe  focieties  which  you  find  by  experience 
to  impair  the  holinefs  and  integrity  of  your 
walk  with  God. — Do  you  afk  where  is^^the 
forbidden  limit  ?  for,  to  a  certain  decree, 
we  may  innocently  conform  to  the  world. 
It  is  diiiicult  to  afcertain  it  by  any  univerfal 
rule — One  criterion  however  is  fufhciently 
fure,  the  moment  that  you  perceive  the  fer- 
vor of  your  arfetlions  towards  your  Crea- 
tor, your  Saviour,  and  the  objetls  of  your 
duty  beginning  to  abate,  the  moir.cnt  that 
you  fmd  yourielf  obliged  to  excufe,  or  be- 


q28  On  Secret  Faults, 


o 


ginning  to  make  apologies  to  your  own 
hearts  for  certain  liberties,  that  moment  you 
liave  already  gone  too  far. 

If  the  contagion  of  falhion,  and  fympa- 
thy  with  the  public  manners,  are  able  fome- 
times  to  lead  eftabliftied  chriftians  into  fm, 
much  more  are  youth,  thoughtlefs,  gay, 
eafily  attratled  by  every  objeft  of  pleafure, 
and  fufceptible  of  dangerous  impreflions 
from  every  companion  with  whom  tliey  meet, 
liable  to  corruption  from  tlie  ill  examples 
that  are  every  v/heie  prefented  to  their  view. 
Seducedby  a  contagious  fympathy  with  fuch 
alTociates,  enflamed  with  dilfolute  pleafure 
they  are  hurried  on  in  a  thoughtlefs  career ; 
or,  if  they  ever  think,  it  is  only  to  invent 
apologies  for  their  vices,  and  to  find  means 
to  hide  their  real  charatler  from  themfelves. 
They  envelope  themfelves  in  the  mills  of 
their  paffions,  and  think  they  are  concealed 
alfo  from  the  eve  of  God.  Ah  !  the  thun- 
ders of  divine  juPcice  are  collefting  above 
that  dark  cloud  that  intercepts  your  fight, 
and,  in  the  moment  of  your  greateil  fecuri- 
ty  they  may  burd  forth — zohen  you  are  fay- 
ing peace  andfiij'ety!  Juddcn  dejlruclionjliall 
coViie  upon  you.     In  the  judgment  of  God, 


On  Secret  Faults.  329 

J o^irfecret faults  fhall  appear  to  be  manifeft 
crimes,  and  all  the  deceitfulnefs  of  fin  fliall 
be  ftript  off  before  his  holy  and  impartial 
tribunal. 

With  one  more  admonition  I  conclude 
this  difcourfe.    Beware  of  falfe  principles  in 
religion.    I  fpeak  not  now  of  thofe  atrocious 
doctrines    in  philofophy  that  proftrate  all 
religion,  and  cover  the  mod  enormous  vices 
under  an  appearance  of  reafon.    I  fpeak  on- 
ly of  principles  adopted  by  the  friends  of  pi- 
ety that  fpring  out  of  the  errors  of  their  own 
underPcanding,  but,  mingled  with  the  purity 
and  fimpiicity  of  the  gofpel,  tend  to  cor- 
rupt it.     From  the  prejudices  of  education, 
and  from  a  vain  confidence  in  the  powers 
of  reafon  they  are  prone  to  confound  cer- 
tain notions  and  abftraftions  of  their  own 
minds  with   the  plain   and  fimple  doctrines 
of  revelation,  and  out  of  the  whole  to  com- 
pofe  one  heterogeneous  mafs.     Their  own 
fpeculations,  they  too  often  make  the  bafis 
of  their  fyflem  ;  and  inftead  of  conforming 
their  rcafonings  with  the  divine  word,  they 
bend  this  facred  flandard  into  a  compliance 
with  their  preconceived  ideas.     This  fpirii: 

Tt 


330  On  Secret  Faults, 

has  introduced  various  corruptions  into  the 
chriflian  church,  and,  by  the  ai'cendency 
which  it  has  given  to  the  vain  and  arrogant 
pretenfions   of  reafon   beyond  its  proper 
fphere,  has  hallened   the  extenfion  of  an 
impious  philofophy.    For,  the  moment  that 
reafon  forfakes  the  guidance  of  revelation, 
and  thofe  obvious  and  univerfal  fentiments 
and  feehngs  of  human  nature  upon  which 
the  evidence  of  revelation  is  founded,  there 
is  no  point  of  reft  till  it  has   deftroyed  all 
truth,  and  arrived  at  a  frightful  atheifm. — 
Every  departure  from  the  divine  fimplicity 
of  the  gofpel,  every  mixture  of  falfe  fcience 
with  its  pure  and  heavenly  light,  tends  to 
obfcure  its  luftre,  and  to  impair  its  fanftify- 
ing  effeft  upon  the  heart.     Blind  and  erring 
as  we  are,  and  fubjeft  to  innumerable  pre- 
judices, arihng  chiefly  from   the  influence 
of  the  paflions,  every   addition   which  we 
make  to  the  fimple  v/ord  of  God  will,  too 
probably,  become  the  nurfe  of  fome  vice, 
or  foible  of  charafter,  and  mar  the  beauty 
and   confiftency  of  our  chriftian  profeflion 
— it  covers,  under  the  mafls.  of  a  profefTion, 
muny Jeer et faults.     And  according  as  the 
various  fe6ls   of  religion  approach,   or  de- 
cline from  this  flandard  we  fee  them  diflin- 


gu 


Oil  Secret  Fazdis,  331 

.idled  from  one  another  by' the  dlfFerent 
degrees  of  their  fanclity,  by  the  fpirlt  ot 
their  morals,  and  even  by  their  manners. 

Friendly,  from  the  whole  view  which  we 
have  taken  of  this  fubjecl,  let  me  recall  to 
your  mofh   ferious   confideration  the  pro- 
found humility  that  becomes  us  before  the 
throne  of  s:race  on  account  of  our  manifold 
and  fecret  imperfections.     The  language  01 
the  holy  Pfalmift,  will  be  that  of  every  fin- 
cere  and  penitent  believer — S'  Innumerable 
evils  have  compaiTed  me  about — mine  ini- 
quities have  taken  hold  upon  me  fo  that  I 
am  not  able  to  look  up — they  are  more  than 
the  hairs  of  my  head,  therefore  my  heart  fail- 
eth  me." — How  many  (ins  have  efcapcd  our 
knowlege  or  obfervation,  even  in  the  mo- 
ment of  committing  them  ?  How  many,  on  a 
review  of  life,  have  efcaped  our  recollection? 
How  many  have  been  overlooked  through 
the  irapofmg  influence  of  cuP.om  and  gene- 
ral example  ?  How  many  have  been  cover- 
ed by  the  deceitfulnefs  of  felf-love  ?  How 
many  have  paiTed  for  innocent  conformi- 
ties with  the  laws  of  nature,  or  liave  even 
been  miilaken  for  virtues  through  the  effecl 


332  On  Secret  Faults. 

of  falfe  principles  ?  Ah !  Who  can  underjiami 
his  errors  ?  We  are  altogether  as  an  unclean 
thing  !  Gur  iniquities,  like  the  xoind,  have  taken 
us  away  I  Clearjeus  0  Lord,fromJecret  faults^ 
Keep  back  thy  Jervants  alfo  Jrom  prejumptu- 
ousf^ns  I 

AMEN  i 


[    333    ] 
DISCOURSE    XIIL 

ON     PUBLIC       VICES. 


— «>»A2tXi^i(^'' 


Psalm  xix.   13. 

Keep  back  thy  fervant  alfo  from  prejumpiu- 
ousjins. 

PRESUMPTUOUS  SINS  form  a  cora- 
prehenfive  clafs  of  evils,  and  embrace 
all  known  and  deliberate  afts  of  vice. 
They  require  no  other  defcription,  and  are 
evidently  placed  by  the  facred  writer,  in 
contrail  with  fecret  faults  which  efcape  the 
knowledcre  and  obfervation  of  our  own 
minds.  They  are  ililed  prefwnptuous  on 
account  of  that  hardinefs,  and  infolence  of 
heart  which  they  manifeft;  for,  not  only 
have  they  thrown  off  the  reverence  which 
we  owe  to  that  judge  which  God  hath  feat- 
ed  in  our  own  breads  ;  but  they  infult  the 
authority  of  his  holy  law,  and  fet  at  defi- 
ance the  terrors  of  his  juftice  with  which  he 
hath  armed  it. 


334  Oil  Public  Vices. 

Of  this  clafs  of  fins,  for  the  conviclion, 
and,  if  poffible,  the  reformation  of  the  guil- 
ty, it  is  my  defign  to  treat.     And,  that  I  may 
render  the  illuilration  the  more  clear,  and 
ufefuLKhall  divide  them  into  feveral  degrees, 
and  endeavour,  in  fome   meafure,  to  trace 
their  progreffion. — They  are  fuch  fins  as  are 
committed  againft  the  light  and  conviftion 
of  our  own  minds — they  are  aggravated  by 
the  abufe  of  great  and  diflinguifliing   mer- 
cies— or  by  infenhbility,  or  a  fpirit  of  revolt 
under  the  judgments  and  corrections  of  di- 
vine providence — they  have  attained  their 
ultimate  progreiTion  when  they  come  to  be 
committed  without  (hame — and,  efpecially 
when  they  difcover  a  zeal   to  enfnare,   fe- 
duce,  and  corrupt  others. 

I.  They  are,  in  the  nrft  place,  commit- 
ted againilthe  light  and  conviction  of  our 
own  minds. 

This  chara61er  embraces  every  grade  of 
ihem — if  it  extends  to  the  hig^hefi,  it  reach- 
es,  alfo,  the  lov\^eft.  It  is  efiential  to  their 
nature.  This  chiefly  conflitutes  their  guilt 
that  they  violate  the  diclates,  and  remon- 
ftrances  of  confcience.     Confcience  is  our 


On  Public  Vices,  335 

natural  law,  and  our  natural  judge. — It  is 
more — it  is  the  vicegerent  of  God  in  the 
bofom  of  man.     All  its  diftates   point  to  a 
higher  fource  of  duty  in  his  will — all  its  re- 
proaches point  to  a  higher  fanftion  in  his 
juflice.     When,  therefore  we  fin  againft  its 
lights,  it  is,  in  the  very  acl,  to  defy  the  au- 
thority of  God  our  Maker.     But  no  fmall 
portion  of  their  guilt  confiils  in  their  viola- 
ting that  reverence  which  a  man  ought  to 
have  for  himfelf,  and  the  law  of  his  own 
breaft.      What  though  the  darknefs  may 
cover  him  ?  What  though  no   human  eye 
may  perceive  him  ?  He  is  his  own  witnefs — 
that  judge   is  intimately  confcious  whom, 
next  to  God,  he  ought  to  refpeft  and  fear- 
before  whom  crime  fnould  tremble,  and  the 
impurity  of  the  thoughts  Ihould  cover  him 
with  Ihame. 

A  good  man  will  cultivate  a  fine  and  dd. 
icate  lenhbility  of  confcience,  that  he  mav 
be  able  to  perceive  the  minuted  objects  of 
duty,  and  difcern  even  the  remote  ap- 
proaches of  vice  ;  and  he  v/ill  fludv  to  il- 
lummate  it  by  all  the  lights  which  he  can 
derive  from  reafon,  from  refie6Hon,  and  the 
word  of  God.     A  wicked  man  feeks  only 


336  On  Public  Vices, 

to  blind  it,  or  to  blunt  its  feelings ;  and, 
when  he  can  blind  it  no  longer,  he  hardens 
himfelf  againil  its  reproofs.  And,  is  not 
he  a  bold  and  infolent  offender  who  neither 
refpefts  himfelf,  nor  fears  the  judge  of  the 
univerfe — who  can  venture  upon  atls  of  ac- 
knowledged vice  in  oppofition  to  the  con- 
viftion  of  his  own  mind — to  the  reproaches 
of  his  own  heart — to  the  majefty  and  au- 
thority of  the  divine  law,  and  the  terrors  of 
a  judgment  to  come  ? 

Vv^hat  then  (hall  we  fay  of  that  ilothful  neg- 
left,  or  irreverent  contempt  of  the  houfe  of 
God,  and  the  ordinances  of  Chrift  which  is 
the  difgrace  of  a  people  who  call  themfelves 
by  his  name,  and  which,  in  this  age  of  ima- 
ginary freedom  from  the  moil  facred  ties, 
infers  fo  many  of  the  profelTors  of  the  gof- 
pel  ?  What  (liall  we  fay  of  that  intempe- 
rance and  debauch,  the  frequent  reproach 
of  our  focial  meetings,  and  even  of  thofe 
conventions  of  the  people,  held  under  the 
authority  of  the  laws,  where  the  pureft  mo- 
rals ought  to  reign  in  a  free  country  ?  An 
intemperance  that  impairs  the  health — that 
wades  the  profits  of  indullry — that  mur- 
ders time— that  overturns  the  habits  and 


On  Public  Vices,  337 

principles  of  virtue — that  deftroys  domef- 
tic  peace,  and  emails  milcry  ana  rum  on 
thole  wtio  depend  upon  us  ^  W  hat  fhall  wc 
fay  ofthatinjuiiiceand  iraud  that,  in  lo  n)a- 
ny  Ihapes,  has  riien  up  among  us  ?  Not  that 
which  is  cognizable  by  thecivil  law, and  may 
be  remedied  by  \\^  tribunals,  but  that  which 
efcapes  the  eye  and  the  arm  of  the  law — 
that  criminal  fpeculation  that  tends,  in  its 
progrefs,  to  proltrate  moral  principle,  and 
calls  honor  and  honclly  into  the  lottery  of 
chances — that  unfairneis  in  dealino; — thofe 
iniquitous  advantages— thofe  impoluions  011 
the  cred  lity,  the  hmplicity,  or  the  neceifi-. 
ties  of  others  which  can  be  proved,  or  puii- 
if;  ed  only  at  the  tribunal  of  coni'cience  ? 
What  fi^all  we  fay  of  that  ludicrous  jeiimg 
on  the  moll  facred  fubjetts,  that  indecf  ncy 
and  impurity  of  difcourfe,  which  virtue  can- 
not hear  without  difguh,  nor  delicacy  name 
without  a  blufli,  that  diilionour  th.e  convi- 
vial meetings  of  thoughiiefs  youth,  and, 
fotnetimes  alas  !  even  of  profligate  age  ? 
What  (hall  vve  fay  of  that  impious  profana- 
tion or  the  name  of  God,  and  thofe  infernal 
imprecations  that  fo  frequently  im^ult  our 
eari  both  among   the  great  and  the  little 


U  u 


338  On  Public  Vices. 

vulgar  ?  Juft  God !  wilt  thou  not  at  length 
pour  out  that  damnation  on  the  head  of  the 
fmner  vvhich  he  audacioully  invokes  from 
thy  juftice  ? — Can  men  plead  principle  to 
vindicate,  or  ignorance  to  excufe  thefc 
crimes  P  No;  they  are  prefumptuous  of- 
fences— they  are  palpable  violations  of  that 
inward  law  which  God  hath  placed  in  the 
breails  of  man  to  regulate  his  condu61. 

II.  The  abufe  of  great  and  diftingufhing 
mercies  conltitutes  another  aogravation, 
and  forms  a  new  clafs  of  prefumptuous  of- 
fences. 

To  enjoy  the  mercies  of  Heaven  without 

thankf  ulnei's,  efpecially,  when  we  have  been, 
in  any  way,  dhiinguilhed  by  its  goodnefs— - 
snd,  itill  more,  to  enjoy  them  only  to  abufe 
them,  is  a  proof  of  a  depraved  mind,  and 
of  a  baie  and  ignoble  heart.  Ingratitude  is 
an  aggravation  of  prefumption. 

Thefe  mercies  may  confift  either  in  ex- 
ternal advantages  of  fortune — in  intelle6tual 
improvements — or  in  the  means  of  religiou* 
-Ivnowledge  and  inliru6lion. 


On  Public  Vices.  339 

If  it  hath  pleafed  God  to  put  it  in  the 
power  of  ibme  men  to  enjoy  the  common 
bleffing  of  exiftence  with  more  dignity  and 
fatisfadion  than  others,  by  crowning  them 
with  affluence,  or  raifing  them  to  honoura- 
ble llations,  are  not  their  vices  marked  with 
a  guilt  proportioned  to  their  mihrnproved 
advantages  in  life  ?  Yet,  how  often  does 
the  facility  of  gratifying  their  paQions  raife 
them  above  the  controui  of  the  laws  of  God  ? 
Perhaps  no  men  are  more  prone  to  abufe 
his  goodnefs,  and  to  turn  it  againil  him- 
felf,  than  thofe  who  enjoy  it  in  the  greateft 
profufion.  A  pernicious  idlenels,  profligate 
manners,  impiety  and  licentiouinels  are  at 
once  their  fin,  and  their  difgrrace.  "  Hear 
O  Heavens  !  and  give  ear  U  Earth  !  faith 
the  Spirit  of  God,  appealing  to  all  nature 
againil  thefe  crimes,  i  have  nourilhed  and 
brought  up  children,  and  they  have  rebel- 
led againfl  me! — The  ox  knoweth  his  own- 
er, and  the*  afs  his  mafier's  crib,  but  Ijrael 
doth  not  know,  my  people  doth  not  coniider." 

How  frequently,  likewife,  are  their  dif- 
tinftions  in  fociety  made  to  fofter  a  fpirit 
of  unbecoming  pride,  infolent  to  mankind, 
and  unthankful  to  Almighty  God,  as  if  all 


340  On  Public  Vices, 

that  they  enjoyed  belonged  to  them  by  an 
independent  poHeHion  ;  or,  were  the  natural 
reward  of  (upcrior  worth  and  merit  in  them- 
felves  r*— What  !  a  worm  of  duii!  a  vam 
and  gorgeous  atom  proud  of  the  cruil  that 
it  inhabiis!  proud  before  the  IViaker  of  the 
itniverfe  in  whole  pre  ence  all  human  ciif- 
tin61ions  are  annihilaied!  Bimd  and  nnpi- 
ous  prefumption  !  1  h(-:i'e  vain  n  ptiles  per- 
vert the  unmerited  bounty  of  Heaven  nito 
hofliliiy  equally  againit  God  and  man. 

It  is  a  fiill  higher  crime  to  employ  in  the^ 
fervice  of  in  pury  ihe  advantages  ot  natural 
talents,  or  nuelicciuai  impiovtinents. 

Si  en  talents,  or  fuch  improvements  are 
capaLie  of  being  employed  to  the  bLit,  or 
the  worh  purpoies  in  human  life.  And  the 
guilt  of  their  mifapplication  is  to  be  mea- 
lured  both  by  the  good  which  they  have 
not  done,  and  t)y  the  evil  of  which  they  have 
been  the  a6n\e  caufes.  Vv  hat  illuuiinaiion 
and  perfuahve  energy  might  they  not  ha\e 
added  to  the  principles  oi  virtue  and  piety  ? 
Vvhat  unhappy  exteniion  and  force  have 
they  not  given  to  the  pernicious  caufe  of 
inhaeiii)  and  vice?    Impious  pliilolophers! 


On  Public  Vices,  341. 

licentious  wits!  who  fludy  to  f^^ake  the 
eternal  tounciations  of  truth  and  iiiorals, 
and  to  deltroy  ihe  i'alutary  intluence  of  reli- 
gion on  tlie  human  mmd!  hou^  many  crimes, 
not  your  own,  wili  at  lail  be  imputed  to 
you  ! 

It  is  a  l.imentable  proof  of  the  corrup- 
tion of  human  nature  that  the  powers  of 
genius,  wiiicii  inouid  diicovcr  to  m  n  his 
own  imperiection,  ana  the  profound  and 
un  atiioUiaDle  depths  of  the  divine  wifdom, 
fliould  io  often  lerxeoniy  to  inioxicate  the 
heart,  and  to  intlate  it  with  vanity — Ihould, 
initead  of  proving  the  bleiling,  prove  the 
curfe  of  mankind,  by  unfettlmg  the  princi- 
ples ot  fociety  and  morals — nay,  Ihould  car- 
ry this  prciumpiion  ib  far  as  to  attack  the 
eternal  lource  oi  light  and  truth  itfelf,  and 
place  in  its  rootn  tlie  iamt  and  dubious 
ipark  of  their  own  reafon.  Ah!  vain  and 
purblind  re  ion !  It  reiembles  a  proud  in- 
iiil'ect  which,  becauie  it  can  emit  a  feeble 
and  decep.ive  luitre  in  the  dark,  (iiould 
preten'd  to  eclipfe  the  fun  by  the  flrength 
of  its  ieun,  and  fay,  /  v/ill  eniii^hten  die 
univerfe. Children  of  ignorance  and  va- 
nity !  the   lig!:t   of  eLernity  ihall  bring  a 


342  On  Public  Vices, 

dreadful  refutation  of  your  errors — the 
croud  ofvitlims  to  your  delufioiis  that  you 
will  meet  there,  while  they  deinonitrate 
your  guilt  with  a  fearful  evidence,  will  add 
augmented  horrors  to  your  condeirmation ! 

To  our  abufed  i-nercies  let  us  add  the 
more  common  but  ineitirnable^  bleihng  of 
the  ordinances  and  initructioas  of  the  gofpel 
—The  lights  and  the  m olives  which  they 
add  to  duty  greatly  aggravate  the  guilt  of 
thofe  finners  who  violate  or  w^ho  defpife 
them.  Hard  muii  be  the  heart  which  refills 
the  counfels  of  divine  wifdom,  and  the  in- 
vitations of  divine  mercy  propofed  in  the 
gofpel.  And  the  truth  is,  that  thofe  who 
have  broken  through  the  reUraints,  and 
eradicated  the  principles  of  a  pious  educa- 
tion ufually  become  diilinguiiiied  in  vice. — ■ 
They  are  quoted  by  hnners  to  th.e  reproach 
of  religion,  as  they  often  become  the  re- 
proach of  human  nature.— A  iinner  en- 
joying the  light  of  the  gofpel,  fins  againft 
the  iirong  conviciion  oi  in,  own  nimd  — 
a^ainilthe  authority  of  the  divme  la'.^^  n~io[l: 
clearly  interpreted  in  the  cliurch — agairdt 
the  high  and  intercliing  proipects  of  eternity 
continually  prefented  to  his  mind  in  the  in- 


On  Public  Vices.  343 

(litutions  of  religion — and  againfi;  the  ma- 
jefty  and  juRice  of  God  armed  to  enforce 
his  law,    and  to  punifh  its  violation.     But, 
that  which  chielly  enhances  his  guilt,  is  the 
abufe  of  the  divine  mercy  fo  illuiirioufly  dif- 
played  to  the  world  in  the  crofs  of  Chrift, 
and  the  profanation  of  his   moft    precious 
blood.     Defpifed  mercy  is  often  more  fear- 
ful in  its  effects  than  infulted  juftice.  When 
the  prefumption  of  impiety  rejects  the  blef- 
fed  vitlim  of  the  crofs,  is  it  not  boldly  to 
invoke  upon  its  own    head  thofe  dreadful 
flames  thai  have  con  fumed  in  our  room  the 
Lamb  of  God  .^ 

III.  Infenfibility  under  fignal  judgments 
of  divine  providence,  or  a  fpirit  of  revolt 
under  its  iirokes,  and  corrections,  adds  to 
finning  a  charadter  of  high  prefumption. 

Judgment,  as  well  as  mercy  is  intended 
for  the  reformation,  and  the  cultivation  of 
mankind,  frequently,  when  the  goodnefs 
of  God  has  ceafed  to  make  its  proper  im- 
preihon  upon  a  hard  and  impenitent  heart, 
the  ftrokes  of  his  juitice  have  at  length 
brought  it  to  re[ie61ion.  It  is  ilated  by  the 
holy-fpiritj  as  a  character  of  incorrigible  and 


344  ^^  Public  Vices. 

hopelefs  impenitence  in  the  nation  of  Ifrael^ 
that  -he  divine  chai.ilenjents  were  no  longer 
able  to  reclaim  them.  *'  Why,  iaith  he, 
fljould  you  De  llricken  any  more  r^  Ye  will 
jevolt  more  and  more.  The  whole  head 
is  lick,  the  whole  heart  is  faint."  V\  hat  ii.all 
we  fay,  then,  of  thof^-  who  can  deliberately 
return  from  follow  ing  th(  ir  fellow  hnners 
to  the  duii,  wiiiiherthey  li:a!l  th(-m(elves  be 
foon  conve}'ed,  to  all  (heir  cuhoiiiary  fol- 
lies, and  habitual  vices  f"  Vv  hat  ihali  v.  e  lay 
of  thofew^ho  have  their  hearts  torn  by  the 
mod  painful  be  reavuicnts.  and  their  hopes 
blafted  or  their  fortunes  broken  by  a  fro\'-  n- 
ing  providence,  who  ne\er  feriouily  (onfi- 
der  the  hand  that  fnutes  th  m,  that  they 
may  break  oil  their  fins  by  re|Kniance.  nor 
lay  to  heart  the  vanity  of  tlie  Vvoild  tl.at 
they  may  reiiirn  to  God  as  ihar  exceed  vg 
joy?  Vv  hat  fhall  we  fay  of  tho,e  who,  iiiik- 
insf  under  diieafes  induced  bv  their  own 
intemperance  and  prohigctcy.  infleod  oi  I  e- 
ing  led  to  repentance  .by  tliCir  luiii  ruus^ 
are  flill,  with  their  remaining  iirengvh,  pi  r- 
fuing  the  fame  crimes  ?  V»  hat  of  iholis  who, 
rap-insf  under  their  impo'.ence  to  enjoy  ifeir 
licentious  pleafures,  or  wri.lnrg  unotr  ihe 
pains  which  thole  pleaiur^s  have  plaiued  in 


On  Public  Vices, 


345 


a  ruined  conRitution,  murmur  at  the  will  of 
Heaven,  rebel  againft  the  ftroke,  or  even 
blafpheme  their  Creator  as  the  author  of 
their  miferies  ?  Is  not  that  a  hard  heart  on 
which  the  judgments  of  God  make  no  pious 
imprelhon?  Is  not  that  ahold  and  criminal 
fpirit  that  revolts  againft  the  corredions  of 
a  righteous  and  holy  providence,  and  that 
w^ill  even  go  from  fuffering  under  the  ftroke 
to  a  repetition  of  the  crime  ?  When  the 
fi nner  arrives  to  defpife  the  fear  of  God,  lie 
feems  to  be  forfaken  of  the  laii:  principle  by 
w^hich  he  niight  pouibly  be  led  back  to  his 
duty. 

IV.  Another  (lep  in  the  progref^  of  vice 
is  fecn  in  the  want  of  Ihame,  and  contempt 
of  public  opinion. 

The  common  interefls,  arid  tlierefor^  the 
common  fentiments  of  mankind  will  ever 
be  conne61ed  with  the  great  principles  of 
virtue  and  good  morals.  Thefe  fcntnnents 
furnifli  the  m.od  povrerf al  motives  to  order, 
decency,  and  propriety  of  condud,  and 
form,  perhaps,  the  ilrongeft,  as  well  as  the 
mofi:  delicate  ties  that  connccl  fociety  toge- 
ther. Laws  may  be  called  its  chains — 
W  w 


34^  0)1  Public  Vices, 

principles  and  opinions  are  its  filkcn  cords. 
Each  fingly   may  pofifefs  fmall  force — but, 
infinitely  multiplied  and  interwoven,  they 
become  lironger  than  chains.     Nature  hath 
fubje61ed  us  to  the  fentiments   of  one  ano- 
ther ;    and    every   modeft    and   ingenuous 
mind  will  profoundly   refpecl  the  opinion 
of  the  public.     Sinners,  w'ho   are  not  yet 
abandoned,  ftudy   to  conceal  their  crimes 
from  public  view,  and  to  lind  for  them  the 
protcc:iion    of    obfcurity    and   retirement. 
Therefore  are  they  called  the  works  of  dark' 
nefs,  not  only  becaufe  they   lead  down  to 
the  hlackv.ejs  of  darknefs  forever,  but  becaufe 
they  feek  for  themfelves  the  deeped  Ihades 
to  cover  them  from  the  eye  of  the  world. 
In  the  clouds  of  night  riot  and  debauchery 
endeavour  to  hide  their   enormities — then 
theft  and  robbery  come   forth   from   their 
lurking  places — malice  and  envy  (lioot  their 
arrows    in   the   dark — there  luil  fpreads  a 
veil  over  its  Ihameful  and  impure  myflerics. 
"  In  the    tv^'ilight,    faith   Solomon,   in   the 
eveninor,  in  the  black  of  dark  night,"  the 
bait  is  laid  by  loofe  pleafure  for  the  unwa- 
ry  youth — "  He  goeth    after  her  flraight 
v/ay,   as  the  ox  goeth  to  the  (laughter,  or, 
as  a  fool  to  the  corredion  of  the  flocks. 


On  Public  Vices.  347 

till  a  dart  flrike  through  his  liver — as  a  bird 
halleth  to  the  fnare,  and  knoweth  not  that 
it  is  for  his  life."*  As  long  as  the  fmner 
continues  to  feek  concealment  for  his 
crimes,  it  is  a  proof  of  fome  remaming  mo- 
delly  of  mind  that  is  ilill  capable  of  refor- 
mation. But  when  vice  (lalks  abroad  with 
an  unblulhing  face — when  intemperance 
flao-orers  and  vociferates  in  the  flreets — when 
fraud  and  injullice  can  come  forth  with  the 
countenance  of  integrity,  and  ill-gotten 
wealth  is  confidered  as  a  fubiiiiute  for  ho- 
nor, and  for  confcience — when  lull  feeks  no 
veil  for  its  orgies,  and  the  moft  criminal 
connexions  are  avowed  without  fliame,  the 
laft  fences  of  piety  and  virtue  are  broken 
down,  and  the  mind  is  prepared  to  go  to  any 
extreme  to  which  appetite  may  impel,  or 
opportunity  invite. 

Dees  the  want  of  Iliame,  it  m.ay  be  aflc- 
ed,  mark  a  higher  degree  in  the  progrefs  of 
vice  than  thoie  characters  of  it  which  have 
been  already  named — refinance  to  the  au- 
thority of  confcience — ingratitude  for  the 
mercies   of  God — and  impenitence  under 

**  Proverbs  rii.  9,  Sec, 


34^  ^^^  'PuoUc  Vices. 

his  corrections  ? — It  does — men  are  often 
reftrained,  by  a  principle  of  decency,  from 
public  and  open  vice  long  after  they  have 
]oit  the  fear  of  God.  Accordingly  the  pro- 
phet Ipcaks  of  it  as  the  confummation  of 
the  crimes  of  Ifrael,  and  the  fure  prefage  of 
the  deftruPcion  of  the  nation.  "  Were  they 
afnained  when  they  had  committed  abomi- 
nation ?  Nay,  they  were  not  at  all  alhamed, 
neither  could  they  blufii :  therefore  they 
(liall  fall  among  them  that  fall  ;  at  the  time 
that  I  vifit  them  they  fiiall  be  cad  down 
faith  the  Lord."'*^ 

But,  it  is  the  proof  of  a  flill  more  obdu- 
rate mind  when  the  profligate  has  arrived 
at  the  monftrous  vanity  ot  glorying  in  his 
fhame.  It  is  not  enough  for  him  to  have 
overcome  the  modelly  of  nature,  and  to  for- 
get, or  to  defpife  the  awful  cenfure  of  the 
world  ;  he  hardens  his  countenance  into 
brafs,  infults  the  public  manners  and  fenti- 
ments,and  braves  the  terrors  of  the  Supreme 
Judge  of  Heaven  and  earth.  Sometimes 
we  lee  the  horrid  fpeftacle  of  youth  w^ho 
boaft  their  fcenes  of  riot  and  debauchery — 

*  Jeremiah  vi,  25, 


Cn  Public  Vices,  349 

"who  triumph  over  the  innocence  they  have 
betrayed — who  repeat  in  the  midit  of  bla-f- 
phemies,  their  feats  of  intemperance  and 
licentioLifnefs — who,  not  contented  with 
fearing  the  night  v»'ith  their  crimes,  dare  to 
pollute  the  day  with  their  Ihameful  recital — 
who  glory  in  being  beails,  rather  than  in 
bemg  men.  Ah  !  what  a  corrupted  taile  ! 
what  hardened  hearts  ! 

Another  claf>  of  thefe  worthlefs  men, 
equally  weak  in  their  underfland'ings,  and 
corrupted  in  their  morals,  left  you  ihould 
fufpe^l  them  of  principle,  or  of  being  mflu- 
enced  by  any  remains  of  a  virtuous  and  pi- 
ous education,  which  they  wiih  to  "be  for- 
gotten, boaft  even  of  vices  of  which  they 
have  not  been  guilty,  and  are  ambitious  of 
appearing  adepts  in  iniquity  before  they 
have  been  able  entirely  to  fliake  off  the 
power  of  confcience,  and  the  modefty  and 
timidity  of  their  fii-ft  habits.  They  boaft  of 
licentious  fcenes,  in  which  they  have  not 
been  engaged,  and  of  ruined  chaftity  which 
they  have  never  had  the  effrontery  to  at- 
tempt. Wretches  !  defpicable  to  their  com- 
panions, and  worthy  the  abhorrence  of  all 
good  men !  even  chriftian  charity  can  hard- 


35 o  On  Public  Vices4 

ly  forbear  to  mingle  an  indignant  contempt 
along  with  her  compaihon  for  their  deplo- 
rable folly. 

But  to  virtue  the  mod  contemptible,  and 
to  piety  the  mod  afflicting  example  of  this 
kind,  is  an  old  and  decrepid  fmner  boaft- 
ing  the  proiiigacy  of  his  youth.  When 
indulgence  has  loll  its  relifh — when  paffion 
is  no  longer  an  excufe  for  folly — v;hen  vice 
has  no  charms  but  in  remembrance,  to  fee 
the  decayed  and  miferable  remnants  of  a 
man-  exhaulled  in  the  fervice  of  fm,  having 
no  refource  within  himfelf,  and  in  the  aflec- 
tions  and  hopes  of  religion,  endeavouring 
to  excite  his  wailed  appetites,  and  to  tickle 
a  fenfual  imagination  by  the  recolleftion  of 
fcenes  of  brutal  pleafure,  is  among  the  moft 
deolorable  of  all  objects.  Ag^  glorying  in 
its  fhame  feems  to  be  the  neareil  refemblance 
on  earth  of  infernal  fpirits  who  purine 
abfolute  wickednefs  without  interett,  and 
triumph  in  it  without  enjoyment. 

V.  The  ultimate  degree  in  that  fatal  pro- 
greifion  of  vice  which  I  am  endeavouring 
to  trace  confifts  in  a  zeal  to  infnare,  feduce, 
and  corrupt  others. 


On  Public  Vice^.  351 

A6livity  to  extend  the  principles,  and 
augment  the  numbers  of  a  party  is  one  of 
the  mod  unequivocal  evidences  of  fmcerity 
in  its  caufe.  Many  vicious  men,  contented 
with  being  guilty  themfelves,  are  willing  to 
leave  the  reft  of  the  world  to  follow  their 
own  inclinations.  But  the  zealous  parti- 
zans  of  impiety  are  ever  ready  to  exert  all 
their  talents  to  give  a  pernicious  extenfion 
to  their  corrupted  principles.  Hattening 
to  ruin  themfelves,  they  are  folicitous  to 
draw  others  with  them  to  the  fame  perdition. 
— Some,  through  a  perverted  fociability, 
dehre  companions  in  their  crimes  only  to 
increafe  their  own  enjoyments.  Knowing 
no  other  fatisfattions  but  thofe  which  vice 
affords,  they  efteem  religion  merely  as  the 
rcfource  of  our  laft  moments  when  ail  the 
pleafures  of  the  v/orld  are  about  to  forfake 
us — or  the  occupation  of  weak  minds  who 
know  not  how  to  enjoy  life.  Having  cor- 
rupted their  tafte  to  the  relifn  of  the  moft 
impure  and  tainted  ftreams,  they  are  not 
fatisfied  unlefs  they  (loop  to  drink  of  every 
ftagnant  and  filthy  puddle  that  has  gathered 
in  their  way — others,  deriving  confidence 
from  aflbciates  in  guilt,  are  the  more  ambi- 
tious to  dilleminate  the  poifon  of  their  im- 


352  On  Public  Vices. 

piety.  NotwitliRanding  their  afTumed  au- 
dacity, fomething  within  ftill  fecretly  mif- 
gives  them,  and  mixes  an  uneafy  doubt  at 
the  bottom  of  their  pleafures.  The  appre- 
henhons  of  guilt  require,  the  inuuence  of 
numbers  to  aliay  them,  and  to  rellore  con- 
iidence  to  the  heart.  The  fmner  is  a  coward 
who  often  depends  for  his  fecurity  and  cour- 
age on  the  example  of  others.  Hence  that 
fcandalous  zeal  which  the  profligate  frequent- 
ly difcover  to  fcatter  the  contagion  of  irreli- 
gious principles  andtofpread  the  infection 
of  licentious  manners. — But,  not  a  few,  ftiU 
more  malignant,  ftudy  to  corrupt  the  mor- 
als of  others  through  enmity  to  the  pure  and 
humble  fpirit  of  piety.  The  bitternefs  of 
their  hearts  they  vent  in  keen  reproaches, 
and  inful ting  feoffs — by  fcducing  the  unwa- 
ry, and  ofiering  themfelves  as  leaders  to 
thofe  v;ho  are  yet  but  juft  entering  on  the 
paths  of  vice.  Above  all,  if  they  can  fliake 
the  faith  of  a  believer  in  Chrift,  or  corrupt 
one  whcfe  lirft  inclinations  w^ere  in  favour 
of  religion,  with  what  malicious  fatisfaftion 
they  contemplate,  or  Vv-ith  what  iniblent 
mirth  they  triumph  over,  their  deluded 
prey !  It  is  not  their  own  enjoyment 
which  they  feek  in  particular  a£ts  of  vice, 


On  Public  Vices, 


353 


nor  the  heightened  enjoyment  which  aflb- 
ciates  in  iniquity  confer,  but  they  derive  an 
infernal  pleafurc  from  the  ruin  of  innocence 
itfelf.  Their  malignity  is  gratified  by  being 
themfelves  the  inftruments  of  corrupting  it. 
— This  appears  to  be  the  laft  ftage  of  impi- 
ety upon  earth,  and  contains  the  moll  open, 
daring,  and  criminal  hoilility  againil  truth 
and  virtue. 

In  this  clafs  of  hnners  may  be  ranked, 
likewife,  thofe  numerous  writers  and  artifls 
who  endeavour  to  currupt  the  public  mo- 
rals by  debauching  the  imagination,  or  by 
vitiating  the  public  tade  for  amufement  and 
pleafurc.  In  the  former,  we  often  fee  vice 
rendered  more  feduclive  by  an  enchanting 
brilliancy  of  genius.  The  latter  go  dire6t- 
Iv  to  deprave  the  heart  through  the  organs 
of  the  fenfes.  Seducing  images,  indecent 
piftures,  loofe  fcenes,  and  an  immodeft  wit 
contribute  their  aid  to  fpread  the  infeftiou 
of  vice.  Even  thofe  low  diverfions,  which 
in  many  places  are  fo  eagerly  fought  after,  by 
aflembling  the  idle,  the  thoughtlels,  and  the 
diffipated,  and  debahng  the  taile,  are  haden- 
ing  the  degeneracy  of  manners. — But  v/hat 
ihall  Y;efliy  of  thofe  brothels  oi'  loofe  plca- 
X  X 


354  ^^  Public  Vices, 

fure,  and  thofe  places  of  ruinous  gaming 
where  youth  fo  often  throw  away  virtue,  and 
honor  and  eftate  and  heakh  ?  Temples 
are  they  of  iniquity — houfes  of  peflilence 
whence  the  mod  dire  contagion  is  fpread 
through  fociety.  How  criminal  are  the 
leaders  and  a6tors  in  thefe  fcandalous  and 
corrupting  fcenes  !  Nor  are  thofe  who  en- 
courage them  by  their  prefence,  or  fupport 
them  by  their  contributions,  free  from  a 
deep  guilL 

To  thefe  pernicious  corrupters  of  man- 
kind are  to  be  added  the  pretended  philofo- 
phers  who,  in  the  prefent  age,  are  fo   alTid- 
uoufly  ftriving  to   undermine   the  founda- 
tions both  of  natural,  and  of  revealed  reli- 
gion.    And  for  what   end  ?  Is  it  for  the 
love  of  virtue  ?  Alas !  the   very   bafis   of 
virtue  is  deftroyed  when  religion  is  taken  a- 
way — Is  it,  as  they  fo  often  profefs,  through 
regard  to  the  interefts  of  fociety,  and  the 
happinefs  of  mankind  ?  Ah!  fociety  with- 
out religion  would  foon  become  a  chaos  of 
paffions  and  of  crimes.     What  then  is  the 
motive  of  all  this   ingenious  but  perverted 
induftry  ?  Is  it  not  to  be   found  in  enmity 
of  heart  againfl  that  purity  and  holinels 


On  Public  Vices.  355. 

v/hich  religion  requires  ?  Is  it  not  fome  vice 
of  character  that  renders  them  obnoxious- 
to  the  awful  fanttions  of  religion.  But, 
whatever  it  be,  no  fins  can  be  more  fatal  in 
their  confequences,  or  draw  after  them  a 
greater  train  of  ruin.  Youth  is  corrupted 
— the  foundations  of  focicty  are  Ihaken — 
reverence  for  the  Deity  is  annihilated — his- 
providence  is  denied — his  jullice  fet  at  de- 
fiance— his  love  in  the  redemption  of  the 
world  profaned  and  infulted — the  bleffed 
Saviour  again  rejected  of  men  ! — If  a  zeal 
to  make  profelytes  to  the  pernicious  caufe 
of  impiety  and  vice  is  among  the  higheft 
degrees  of  open  and  prefumptuous  finning 
— if  a  fatal  fuccefs  aggravates  the  guilt,  how 
criminal  are  you  ye  corrupters  of  the  age  1 
If  the  bleffing  of  thofe  who  are  ready  to 
perilh  fhall  come  upon  the  good  man  who 
hath  contributed  to  their  ialvation,  furely 
upon  you  ihall  come  the  blood  and  the 
curfe  of  thoufands  who  have  been  deilroy- 
ed  by  your  influence  ! 

The  illuftration  of  this  fubje6l  has  run  in- 
to fo  great  length  that  your  exhatifled  time 
will  not  permit  me  to  jnake  the  numerous 
reflections  that  naturally  arife  from  it,  and 


2[^6  On  Public  Vices. 

might  be  profitably  improved.  I  iliall  con- 
tent myielf  with  one  or  two. 

The  firft  idea  that  fuggefts  itfelf  is  the  in- 
fidious  nature,  and  the  dangerous  progref- 
fion  of  vice.  No  man  becomes  abandoned 
at  once.  Secret  faults  precede  open,  and 
public  vices — and,  among  thefe  laft  there 
is  a  wide  diftance  between  the  Hrft  violations 
of  known  duty,  and  that  hardened  profliga- 
cy which  learns  at  length  to  fm  without 
{liame.  Beware,  therefore,  of  the  beginnings 
of  vice — they  are  like  the  letting  out  of 
water  which  foon  encreafes  to  a  mighty 
Hood.  Its  habits  are  inceilantly  advancmg, 
and  men  frequently  arrive,  in  the  progreis 
of  time,  calmly  to  perpetrate  crnnes  on 
which  they  would  once  have  looked  with 
a  degree  of  horror.  Break  off,  in  feafon, 
yourjins  by  repentance,  and  return  unto  the 
Lord  and  he  zvill  have  mercy  upon  you,  and 
to  our  God  and  he  zvill  abundantly  pardon 
you.  But  remember  that  there  is  a  point 
*of  impiety  beyond  which  there  is  no  more 

facrifice  for  Jins. Deplorable  is  his  (late 

who  has  corrupted,  or  lilenced  the  judge 
within  him — who  has  torn  away  all  the  re- 
llraints  of  that  internal  law  in    his    own 


On  Public  Vices.  357 

bread — who  has  violated  confcience  till  it 
lias  Ci  afed  to  fpeak.  If  he  has  arrived  to 
lin  in  peace,  it  is  only  becaufe  he  is  aban- 
doned of  God,  his  peace  is  the  dreadful 
calm  that  precedes  a  ftorm — and  God  is 
preparing  the  thunders  that  iliall  avenge 
his  infulted  truth  and  juflice.  How  fearful 
are  his  decrees  !  "  Becaufe  I  have  called  and 
ye  refufed.  I  have  flretched  out  my  hand 
and  no  man  regarded — but  ye  have  fet  at 
naught  ail  my  counfel  and  would  none  of 
my  reproof,  I  alfo  will  laugh  at  your  cala- 
mity, I  will  mock  when  your  fear  cometh ; 
when  your  fear  cometh  as  defolation,  and 
your  dellruttion  cometh  as  a  whirlwind  ; 
when  diftrefs  and  anguiQi  cometh  upon  you. 
Then  ihall  they  call  upon  me  but  I  will 
not  anfwer,  they  fhall  feek  me  early,  but 
they  fhall  not  find  me  :  for  that  they  hated 
knowlege  and  did  not  chufe  the  fear  of  the 
Lord.  They  would  none  of  my  counfel — 
they  defpifed  all  my  reproof:  tlierefore  they 
fhall  eat  of  the  fruit  of  their  own  way,  and 
be  filled  v/ith  their  own  devices."* 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  addrefs  a  reproof 
or  an  admonition  to  thofe  hardened  oiTen- 

*  Proverbs  I.  24 — 31. 


358  Gn  Public  Vices. 

ders  who  have  arrived  at  the  higheft  de- 
grees of  vice — who  have  grown  infenfible 
to  fhame — who  have  become  apofiles  of 
impiety,  and  leaders  in  profligacy.  Sel- 
dom are  they  to  be  found  in  the  houfe  of 
God.  They  voluntarily  place  themfeives 
beyond  the  reach  of  our  remonilrances. 
I  can  only  hold  them  up  as  beacons  for 
your  warning. — Ah  !  my  young  friends ! 
let  not  the  fatal  progrefs  of  your  own  fol- 
lies mark  you  out  hereafter  as  beacons  for 
the  warning  of  others.  Beware  of  the  ex- 
amples and  the  folicitations  to  evil  that  af- 
fail  you  on  every  hand.  The  time  comeih 
faitli  the  apollle,  lohsn  the  wicked  men  andfe- 
diicersjhalt  wax  worje  and  worfe.  Is  not 
that  time  now  ?  Hardly  can  youth  w^alk 
abroad  without  meeting  with  criminal  ob- 
jefts  to  invite,  dangerous  companions  to 
folicit,  fcenes  of  temptation  to  corrupt 
them.  Ah  !  hov/  induilrious  are  the  cham- 
pions of  vice !  Inceffant  in  their  labours  to 
corrupt  and  to  dellroy — afliduous  in  mif- 
chief,  as  if  they  were  honeft  men  employed 
in  a  good  caufe,  hardly  can  you  efcape  the 
innumerable  fnares  which  they  have  laid 
for  you.  Trull  not  thoie  fah'e  illuminarlGns 
to  which  tlie  vain  pretenders  to  a  monopo- 


On  Public  Vices.  359 

ly  of  reafon  have  boldly  laid  claim,  while 
they  have  only  poifoned  the  minds  of  youth, 
corrupted  manners,  and  torn  afunder  all 
the  moral  bands  of  fociety.  Impious  fana- 
tics !  illuminated  only  to  themfelves,  and  in 
the  vifions  of  their  own  fancy  !  another  age 
v/ill  hold  them  in  merited  contempt — this 
age  ought  to  pour  upon  them  that  indigna- 
tion which  is  due  to  their  multiplied  crimes. 
Retire  from  the  contagion  both  of  their 
prefumptuous  folly,  and  their  prejumptuous 
Jins.  And  may  the  Father  of  lights  impart 
to  you  that  wifdom  that  cometh  from  above, 
that  is  pure  J  and  full  of  good  fruits,  for 
Ch rift's  fake ! 

AMEN ! 


[    3^0    ] 
DISCOURSE     XIV. 

ON      DEATH. 

THE  UNCERTAINTY  OF  THAT  INTERESTING  EVENT, 
AND  THE  PROPER  IMPROVEMENT  OF  IT. 


— ««cCS^^,^^^;5new 


Matthew  xxiv.  42. 

Watch,  therefore,  for  ye  know  not  zchat  hour 
your  Lord  will  come. 


'T^HE  end  of  the  world,  and  the  period 
J.  of  life,  to  both  which  events  our  Sa- 
viour in  this  pafTage  feems  to  refer,  are 
equally  involved  in  profound  uncertainty  ; 
yet  is  it,  perhaps  of  equal  importance  that 
we  Ihouid  always  expeft  them,  and  always 
ftand  prepared  to  meet  them.  The  judg- 
ment only  announces  to  the  univerfe  the 
fentence  that  paffes  upon  every  foul  at  its 
feparation  from  the  body.  The  uncertain- 
ty of  this  latter  period  on  which  only  I 
wifii,  at  prefent,  to  fix  your  attention,  ought 
continually  to  occupy  the  mind  with  the 
moil   interefting    reile-btions.      While    the 


On  Death.  301 

Bridegroom  delays  his  coming,  thofe  wlio  are 
in  waiting,  expeding  his  appearance,  fhould 
preferve  their  lamps  trimmed  and  burning : 
and  the  exhortation  which  he  addreiled  to 
the  virgins  in  the  parable  he  addrefles  to 
all — watch,  for  ye  know  not  what  hour  your 
Lord  iviU  come.  Yet  is  there  no  event 
which  men  are  more  prone  to  forget — 
which  they  ftudy  more  to  exclude  from 
their  thous[hts  than  that  which  is  forever  to 
break  their  ties  with  this  world,  and  to  fix 
beyond  it  their  immutable  defliny.  As  it 
zuas  in  the  days  of  Noah,  in  the  age  before 
the  ^ood,  fo  f hall  it  be  aljo  in  the  days  of  tfie 
Son  of  Man,  and  fo  is  it  commonly,  in  the 
cafe  of  each  individual,  with  regard  to  that 
filent  and  conilant  flood  that  is  fweeping 
before  it  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth — 
they  did  eat,  they  drank,  they  married  wives, 
they  were  given  in  marriage  until  the  day 
that  Noah  entered  into  the  ark  :  and  the  food 
came  and  deflroyed  them  all.  Men  are  en- 
gaged in  bufmefs,  or  in  pleafure,  in  the 
plans  of  ambition,  in  the  fchemes  of  ava- 
rice, in  the  cares  of  fortune,  in  the  purfuits 
of  amufement,  in  the  whirl  of  folly,  till  ap- 
proaching, by  imperceptible  degrees,  the 
Yy' 


62  On  Death. 


verge  of  the  grave,  in  one  dreadful  mo- 
ment of  furprize,  they  plunge  into  it. 

That  we  fliall  die,  is  a  truth  fo  manifeft, 
and  fo  frequently  repeated,  that  it  hath  al- 
moft  ceafcd  to  be  felt.  And  the  uncertainty 
of  the  time  of  our  departure  hence,  which 
ought  to  keep  it  ever  prefent  to  our  view, 
is  that  very  circumftance  which  human 
corruption  lays  hold  of  to  make  us  forget 
it  altogether. 

This  fearful  uncertainty  fliall  be  the 
loholejubje^  of  our  m.editation  at  prefent. 

It  is  a  fubjeft,  however,  fo  frequently 
treated  of,  and  fo  conftantly  prefentcd  to  us 
in  the  whole  courfe  of  providence,  that 
nothing  new,  nothing,  indeed,  that  is  not 
trite  can  now  be  faid  upon  it.  All  that  I 
can  hope  is  to  recall  to  your  memory  a  few 
of  thofe  ideas  which  you  have  heard  a 
thoufand  times  repeated,  and  to  endeavour 
to  give  them,  if  poffiblc,  a  new  impreflion 
on  the  heart. 

"  Of  that  hour  knoweth  no  man."  Ac- 
cordingly we  feethe  feeble  and  the  ftrong. 


On  Death.  363 

the  humble  and  the  great,  the  young  and 
thofe  in  middle  life,   infancy  and  age  min- 
gled   promifcuoul'ly    in  the   duft.      Death 
equally  Itrikes  at  all  ;  and  every  moment 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  Ihould  be  re- 
garded as  the  poflible  moment  of  our  own 
departure.     Men  are  furprifed  in  the  midfl: 
of  buhnefs,  in  the  midlf  of  pleafure,  in  the 
midil  of  the  moll  firm  health,  in  the  midll 
of    the    flattering     profpe6ls    of    fortune 
that  are  opening  round  them — taken  in  the 
moments  when  they  are  lead  thoughtful, 
and,  in  their  own  apprehenfions,  the  farth- 
ell  from  danger. 

Life  is    a  fountain   fed  by   a  thoufand 
{Ireams  that  perifhes  if  one  be  dried — It  is 
a  filver  cord  twilled  with  a  thoufand  firings 
that  parts  afunder  if  one  be  broken.     Frail 
and   thoughtlefs    mortals    are  furrounded 
by    innumerable   dangers  which  make  it 
much  more  ftrange  that  they  efcape  fo  long 
than  that  they  almoft  all  perilh  fuddenly  at 
lafl.     We  are  encompalled  with  accidents 
ever  ready  to  crulh  the  mouldering  tene- 
ment that  we  inhabit — The  feeds  of  difeafe 
are  planted  in  our  conftitution  by  the  hand 
of  nature — The  earth  and  the  atmofphere. 


364  On  Death. 

whence  we  draw  our  life,  are  impregnated 
with  death — Health  is  made  to  operate  its 
own  deilruftion— The  food  that  nourifnes 
the  body  contains  the  elements  of  its  decay 
— The  foul  that  animates  it  by  a  vivifying 
fire  tends  to  wear  it  out  by  its  aftion — 
Death  lurks  in  ambulli  about  all  our  paths. 

Notwithftanding  this  is  a  truth  fo  palpa- 
ble, and  confirmed  by  daily  examples  belore 
our  eyes,  how  little  do  we  lay  it  to  heart ! 
We  fee  our  friends  and  neighbours  perilhing 
around  us,  but  how  leldom  does  it  occur  to 
our  thoughts  that  our  own  knell,  perhaps, 
fliall  give  the  next  fruitlefs  warning  to  the 
world. 

Vv^ould  you  have  a  pitlure  of  human  fol- 
ly and  inconfideration  ?  Imagine  a  multi- 
tude of  children  blindfold,  and  engaged  in 
thoughtlefs  fports,  while  death  is  walkmg  in 
the  midil  of  them  (baking  a  fatal  dart.  He 
pierces  one,  and  then  another  and  another — 
Deflruftion  overtakes  them — their  agonies 
feize  upon  them ;  but  they  know  not 
whence  the  evil  comes.  The  furvivors  are 
aftonifhed  for  a  moment ;  but,  not  percei- 
ving the  cruel  murderer,  they  play  on,  and, 


On  Death.  365 

the  next  moment  they  are   pierced  tliem- 
felves.     Tiiis  is  an  image  of  men.     They 
are  blind  to  their  approaching  fate  till  it  has 
overtaken  them.     That  uncertainty  which 
fhould  forever  place  it  before  their  eyes, 
they  make  the  means  of  banilhing  it  from 
their  thoughts.     All   grounds  are  aflumed 
by  them,  however   contraditlory,  to  flatter 
themfelves  w^ith  the  deluhve  hopts  of  life. 
The  healthy  expeft  to  live,  bccaufe  they  do 
not  perceive  in  themfelves  the  fympton-is  of 
decay — The  inhrm  expeft  to  live,  becaufe 
their  infirmity  has   become  a  habit — The 
young  expetl  to  live,  becaufe  they  have  not 
lived  fo  long  as  others — ilnd  the  old,  be- 
caufe they  have  lived  longer.     Who  ex- 
pects  his  lalt  ficknefs  till  it  has   overtaken 
him  .^  Who  of  the  fick  apprehends  hefiiall 
die  till  his  cafe  has  become  defperate  ?  And, 
even  in  the  laft  agonies,  frequently,  does  he 
not  look  to  find  fome  Hired  of  hope,  becaufe 
life  is  flill  pofiible  ? — Oh  !  fatal  deceiver  ! 
that  forever  blinds  the  finner  and  cheats 
him  of  his   falvation  !  that   infatuates   him 
with  the  world  and  makes  him   unmindful 
of  his  eternal  flate  !  that  perfuades  him  to 
truil  to  life,  and  hides  the  importance,  and 


366  0)1  Death. 

even  the  certainty  of  dying  in  the  uncer- 
tainty of  the  time  of  death  ! 

If  God,  in  fome  clear  and  manifefh  way, 
(liould  indicate  to  us,  as  he  did  to  Hezekiah, 
the   term   of  our  years,   and  give  us   affur- 
ance  that,  at  fuch  an  appointed  time,  we 
Ihould  die,  would  not  that  fixed  period  con- 
tinually occupy  our  minds  ?'"  Could  we  fuf- 
ferittoefcape  a  moment  from  ourthoughts  ? 
Hurried  perpetually  acrofs  the  interval  be- 
tween us  and  that  inftant  that  (iiould  decide 
our  everlafting  Ifate,  it  would  appear  too 
(hort  for  the  work  we  (hould  have  to  do  in 
it.     The  image  of  death,  forever  prefent, 
would  efface  the  impreffions  of  the  world — 
it  would  render  unlawful   pleafures  infipid 
and  difp-uftino; — we  could  feel  no  other  in- 
tereds  but  thofe  that  connected  us  with  eter- 
nity.— If  then  death,  feen  at  a  diftance,  but 
at  a  certain  and  determined  period,  would 
fo  alarm,  would  fo  occupy   our  thoughts, 
would  fo  detach  the  heart  from  the  world, 
is  it  not  extreme  l^jlly  to  fuffer  this  folemn 
and  interefdng  event,  now,  that  it  may  ar- 
rive every  moment,  to  flip  from  our  mjnds  i* 

*  Maffillon. 


Cn  Death,  3G7 

Yet,  fuch  is  the  infatuation  of  men  ! — death, 
that  is  ever  at  the  door — death  that  is  rea- 
dy to  furprife  them  at  thofe  feafons  when 
they  lead  think  of  it — death  is  forgotten — ■ 
and  leaves  the  world,  their  paffions,  and 
their  vices  in  full  dominion  in  the  heart. 
Like  the  fool  they  fay,  my  foul!  take  thine 
eafe,  thou  hajl  much  goods  Laid  up  for  many 
years  :  and  becaufe  it  is  not  clearly  and  un- 
equivocally denounced  to  them,  this  night 
thyJoulJJiall  be  required  of  thee,  they  live  as 
if  they  were  to  live  here  forever. 

Did  this  uncertainty  regard  merely  the 
time,  the  place,  or  the  manner  of  our  de- 
parture hence,  it  would  be  a  fubjeft  of  com- 
paratively little  moment.  To  a  fincere 
chriiiian  whofe  eternal  interefts  are  fecure 
it  can  be  of  fmail  importance  indeed  whe- 
ther he  makes  his  change  now  or  hereafter, 
according  to  the  ordinary  courfe  of  nature, 
or  by  fome  more  fudden  and  unforefeen  ac- 
cident. In  the  favour  and  proteftion  of 
God  he  is  always  fafe.  Whenever  he  leaves 
the  world,  he  is  delivered  from  a  pain- 
ful exile  and  brought,  with  unfpeakable  joy, 
into  the  prefence  of  his  heavenly  Father. — • 
If  he  arrives  by  a  Ihorter,  or  a  rougher  path 


368  On  Death* 

than  others,  PLill  he  haftens  home  with  de- 
light, and  the  glorious  recompence  of  his  fi- 
delity makes   him  forget  all  the  dangers  of 
the  way — But  the  dreadful   uncertainty  to 
thofe  who  are  without  God,  and  without  Chrijl 
in  the  world,  is  the  uncertainty  of  their  falva- 
tion. — Eternal  happinefs,  and  eternal  mife- 
ry  are  placed  at  the  end  of  their  courfe,  and, 
as  yet,  they  know  not  which  fliall   be  their 
portion.   Onwards  they  are  preflingthrough 
a  fliort  and  doubtful  pilgrimage,  bUndfold, 
and   carelefs  of  the   deltmy  that  is  before 
them.     Ah !  my  brethren  ! — what  is  it  you 
leave  in  this   fearful  ftate   of  doubt  ?  The 
immortal    interefts    of  your   fouls  ! — You 
{land   between  Heaven  and  Hell,  and  it  is 
not  yet  decided  whether,  with  Lazarus,  you 
{hall  be  borne  by  angels  into  Abrahains  bofo7?i, 
and  the  eternal  manfions  of  the  bleffed,  or, 
with  the  rich  finner,  you  (hall  fmk  down  to 
unquenchable  burnings  whence  you  (liail  lift 
your  eyes  in  vain  to  the  throne  of  mercy,   be- 
ing  in  torments.     You  are  haftening  to  eter- 
nity— Concerns  of  infinite,  and   everlafting 
confequence  hang  on  one  brief,  uncertain 
moment.     Is  this  a  fituation  in  which  you 
can  polTefs  your  fouls  in  tranquility  ?  Can 
you  compofe  your(cl'/es  to  peace,  and  com- 


On  Death,      "  3^9 

mit  your  iminortal  happinefs  to  hazard  ? 
Can  any  zeal,  can  any  labours  be  too  great 
to  eftablifh  it  upon  folid  and  immoveable 
foundations  ?  and  to  (lied  upon  your  lalt 

moments  the  blefled  light  of  hope  ? Oh  ! 

remember  that  this  is  not  like  the  common 
uncertainties  of  life  in  which  we  may  learn 
leffons  of  wifdom  and  prudence  from  our 
errors  themfelves,  and  time  may  enable  us 
to  repair  the  effefts  of  pad  mifcarriages — 
mifcarriage  here  is  irretrievable — the  defti- 

nies  of  eternity  are  unchangeable. God, 

who  is  the  fovereign  arbiter  of  the  times 
and  allotments  oi  men  affio-ns  to  fomc  a 
longer,  to  others  a  fhorter  period — but,  to 
none  does  he  ever  permit  a  repetition,  or  a 
prolongation  of  their  trial.  Death  is  the 
point  that  fixes  their  (late  for  eternity. — 
According  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  body 
they  iliali  be  judged.  All  their  works  prefs 
round  the  foul  in  that  important  and  deci- 
five  moment,  and  follow  her  to  the  great 
tribunal.  If  they  have  been  evil,  no  refource, 
no  hope  remains.  On  (he  muft  go  to  her 
deftiny.  Neither  prayers,  nor  tears,  nor 
vows,  nor  the  anguiih  of  perilhing  guilt  can 
change;  or  fufpend  the  fatal  decree. 
Z  z 


3/0  ^     On  Death. 

When  we  reflecl,  then,  on  the  extreme  un- 
certainty of  life  and  the  infinite  importance 
of  dying  well,  what  can  juftify  that  impru- 
dent,   that  unaccountable   forgetfulnefs   of 
death  in  which  the  great  mafs  of  mankind 
feem  profoundly  buried?  My  young  friends! 
do  you  rely  upon  your  youth,  as   if  jufl 
entering  on  the  morning  of  life,  they  had  a 
long  day  before  them,   and  ample  time  to 
indulge  in  pleafure  ?  Ah !  youth  is  a  ten- 
der {lower  that  often  decays  as  focn  as  it  is 
blown.     The  tendernefs   and   delicacy   of 
the  human  frame  in  this  period,  its  pafilons, 
its  excelTeSjits  indifcretions,  its  inexperience 
render  it  more  expofed  than  any  other  age 
to  fatal  accidents.     Do  you  truil  to  the  vi- 
gor of  your  health?  Not  to  mention  how 
often  we  have  feen  habitual  decrepitude  and 
infirmity  v/rapped  in  the  fame  thoughtleff- 
nefs  of  their  approaching  change,  what  is 
health  but  a  vapour  fcatiered  by  the  light- 
efl  breath  ?  What  is  vigor  but   augmented 
fuel  for  the  moil  violent  diforders  ?  How 
often   have    v/e   feen    the    moft   luxuriant 
ftrength  fuddenly  fall  under  the  all- dell  roy- 
ing  fcythe  of  death,  as  if  God  had  mowed 
it  down  on  purpofe  to  (hew  how  little  we 


On  Death.      '  371 

ought  to  confide  in  it?  If  it  were  more  du- 
rable  than  it  is,  what  is  the  longed  lile  al- 
lotted to  man  but  a  hafty  vifion  that  fiies 
like  a  dream,  as  rapid,  and  alm.oft  as  unfub- 
itantial  ?  Nay,  v/hat  is  the  whole  fucceffion 
of  ages  fince  the  commencement  of  time  in 
which  generations  and  empires  have  ap- 
peared and  paffed  away  like  phantoms 
gliding  over  the  ftage  ?  in  relation  to 
eternity,  and  the  great  work  which  we  have 
to  fulhi  for  eternity,  how  (hort! Antici- 
pated time  feems  long  to  th.e  ycung  and  in- 
experienced, as  if  they  had  hours  and  days, 
and  years  to  fparc  ;  but,  v/hen  it  comes  to 
a  clofe,  and  they  look  back  upon  it,  it  ap- 
pears, as  a  moment,  as  a  point,  aS  nothing — 
it  is  vanifhed,  and  its  duties,  perhaps,  re- 
main unfulfilled.  Life  is  fiuftuatinsr  vvith 
perpetual  uncertainty,  and  is  haftening  to 
lofe  itfeif  in  eternity.  Vain  mortals  are 
borne  down  the  Rream  of  time  as  on  the 
boibm  of  a  mighty  river  on  which  they  in. 
ceffantly  difappear  and  fucceed  one  ano- 
ther in  the  midil  of  its  tempeilaous  waves. 
At  no  m.oment  are  thev  fecure — they  ought 
therefore  to  be  always  prepared  for  an 
event  that  every  moment  may  furprize 
thcni.     Waich,  therefore,  for  ye  knoxc  nather 


372.  On  Death. 

the  day  nor  the  hour  wherein  ihefon  cfnian 
cometh. 

Tliis  injunftion  of  our  bleffed  Lord  to 
'watch  for  his  coming,  may  imply  the  faith- 
ful cultivation,  and  the  a61ive  difcharge  of 
all  the  duties  that  are  incumbent  upon  us 
both  as  men  and  chriHians.  Univerfal  ho- 
lincfs  in  habit,  and,  as  far  as  poihble,  in  att 
is  the  bed  preparation  to  meet  our  Supreme 
Judge.  But,  it  is  particularly  defigned  to 
inculcate  profound  and  habitual  reflexion 
on  our  mortality,  and  on  the  fliortnefs  and 
and  uncertainty  of  life.  No  exercife  can 
ferve  more  powerfully  to  detach  the  heart 
from  the  v/orld,  and  to  fanftify  its  affeftions. 
The  interefts  of  time  which,  when  viewed 
alone,  are  apt  to  feduce  man  from  his  cre- 
ator, lofe  their  dangerous  importance  when 
brought  into  near  and  clofe  comparifon 
with  eternity — pride  is  humbled  and  morti- 
fied when  we  look  into  the  duft  wdiich  is  at 
once  our  origin,  and  our  end — revenge  is 
extinguifhed  when  we  look  up  to  the  bar  of 
God  where  our  enemies  and  we  (hall  [hortly 
be  judged  together — in  the  grave  are 
quenched  the  flames  of  all  impure  and  fen- 
fual  defires. — The  profped  of  death,  there- 


On  Death.  373 

fore,  fliould  be  continually  before  the  mind. 
It  {hould  mingle  its  idea  along  \vith  all  the 
viev/s  and  plans  of  life  to  render  them  tem- 
perate and  fober — with  all  our  occupations 
and  engagements  in  the  world  to  regulate, 
and  give  themajuft  direction — and  even 
Vv'ith  all  our  pleafures  and  amufements  to 
chaflen  and  corretl  them. 

The  children  of  mirth  and  folly,  and 
thofe  who  have  hitherto  lived  only  to  pieafe 
themfelves,  will,  perhaps,  efteem  this  an 
auftere  and  gloomy  morality.  Thefe  me- 
iancholy  refletlions  v/ould  poifon  to  them 
ail  the  happinefs  of  life.  To  fafliionable 
difTipations,  and  to  thoughtlefs  levity,  I  con- 
fefs,  they  will  not  be  very  friendly.  But, 
to  enable  us  to  live  in  the  world  as  reafona- 
ble  men,  and  as  chriilians,  nothing  will  con- 
tribute more  than  to  remember  our  latter 
end — and  to  the  true  enjoyment  of  life, 
nothing  will  add  more  than  the  hope  of  im- 
mortality beyond  the  grave. If  death  is 

formidable,  it  is  guilt  only  that  makes  it  {o  : 
and  this  is  a  new  reafon  for  cherifliinsf  the 
idea,  and  improving  it  to  a  pious  ufe.  It 
lofes  its  terrors  when  we  are  able  to  look 
upon  it  with  a  good  confcience.     It  is  not 


374  ^?^  Death. 

merely  the  pain  of  dying  from  which  na- 
ture (brinks,  nor  the  horror  of  forfaking  a 
world  which  can  have  few  charms  to  thofe 
who  have  experienced  its  vanity,  its  malig- 
nity,its  infmcerity — it  is  the  apprehenfion  of 
divine  juPdce — it  is  the  awful  hoiinefs  of 
Godj  in  vv'hofe  prelence  the  confcious  foul  is 
about  to  appear,  that  fills  it  with  alarm. — ■ 
Purify  the  heart,  and  you  will  fee  with  tran- 
quility your  change  approach.  How  many 
^holy  men  have  met  it,  not  v/ith  confidence 
only,  but  with  triumph  ?  What,  indeed,  has 
a  g^ood  man  to  fear?  Death  robs  him  of 
nothing ;  for  iie  is  already  mortified  to  the 
world — nay,  death  brings  him  to  the  pof- 
iellion  of  all  that  is  moil  dear  to  him  ;  for 
his  treafure  is  in  Heaven.  It  is  but  the 
gate  to  eternal  reft  already  blefi  and  fanfti- 
hed  by  his  Savi<Srs  pailage  through  it. — 
But,  if  it  is  ai7.  object  of  terror  to  you,  will  it 
be  lefs  ^io^  by  your  not  having  thought  of  it, 
and  prepared  to  meet  it  ?  Can  you,  by  re- 
fufing  to  think,  delay  the  fatal  flroke  ?  No, 
death  is  advancing  v/ith  a  fure  but  filent 
pace — he  vv'ill  fcnke  at  the  appointed  time  ; 
and  not  to  have  forefeen  the  blow  will  only 


acre^avate  its  horrors. 


Gn  Death,  3j^ 

What  ufeful  lefibns,  then,  are  taught  us 
by  the  preceding  refletiions  ?  One  naoft  im- 
portant is  to  Jet  our  affcBions  on  the  iJiings 
that  are  above,  and  not  on  things  on  the  earfth 
— to  life  this  xoorld  as  not  abvjiiig  it,  knowing 
that  the/afliion  ojthe  uorld pajjeth  away. 

Whydov/e  forget  eternal  intereds  only 
to  place  our  hearts  on  thcfe  vain  things  that 
to-morrow  are  about  to  perifii  forever  ? 
To  the  cold  and  filent  nations  of  die  dead 
what  are  the  riches,  the  honors,  the  plea- 
fures  that  once  occupied  all  their  cares, 
and  formed  the  obje6ts  of  their  inceffant 
toils  ?  What  will  they  fiiortly  be  to  us  ? 
Nothing  on  earth  is  durable — all  things  are 
hadening  to  corruption  by  a  rapid  and  ne- 
cefi'ary  progrefs.  Where  are  thofe  proud 
monuments  of  human  greatnefs  that  once 
boalled  a  duration  that  vrould  be  coeval 
with  time  itfelf?  Where  is  the  vail  fuccef- 
fion  of  empires  that  once  filled  the  earth 
with  their  glory  and  their  crimes  ?  Swept 
from  the  face  oi"  tlie  globe,  they  have  not 
left  a  vcilige  behind  them  of  their  fancied 
grandeur,  except  the  few  faint  traces  that 
hidory  has  gath.ered  from  the  wrecks  of 
time.      If  fo   many    nations   have   vaniOi- 


37^  Gn  Death. 

ed — if  all  their  fplendor,  their  tumult, 
their  bufy  cares,  their  noify  mirth,  their  paf- 
fions,  their  intrigues,  their  follies,  and  their 
crimes  have  palled  away  like  a  dream,  and 
are  funk  in  eternal  oblivion,  what  is  the  nar- 
row fpan  of  human  life  ?  And  where  (hall 
fnortly  be  all  thofe  vain  and  tranfient  things 
that  now  occupy  our  thoughts,  and  abforb 
our  hearts  ?  The  places  that  know  us  nozo, 
JhalL  knozo  us  no  more  J  or  ever — the  objefts 
that  now  engage  us  fhall  be  left  to  amufc 
and  cheat  the  folly  of  other  times.  No- 
thinp-will  remain  to  us  but  what  v/e  have 
done  for  God,  for  the  foul,  for  eternity. 
What  madnefs  is  it  then  to  waPte  our  time, 
and  our  cares  on  thefe  periihing  polfelfions, 
while  we  neglect  interefts  of  higher  and 
everlafling  moment  ?  In  fpite  of  all  the 
proofsof  their  vanity  which  we  have  every 
day  before  our  eyes  in  the  death  of  our  com- 
panions,  our  neighbors,  and  our  friends 
fhall  we  ftill  fet  our  hearts  upon  them  as 
our  chief  good  ?  Nay,  frequently,  in  the 
death  of  others,  fhall  we  think  only  of  the 
means  we  derive  from  it  of  improving  our 
own  fortune  ?  Iniiead  of  being  mortiiied  to 
the  world,  and  being  led  by  it  to  ferious  and 
foberthoucrhtfulnefs  on  our  own  ftate,  fnail 


On  Death, 


Til 


\ve  fccretly  exult  at  it,  and  ufe  it  only  to 
form  new  plans  of  life,  new  projefts  of 
ambition,  new  fchemes  of  pieafure  ?  Alas  ! 
from  the  horrors  and  the  aflies  of  the  tomb 
fliall  thofe  fparks  come  forth  that  rekindle 
our  lulls  with  new  ardor  !'^  On  its  moul- 
dering ruins  (liall  we  attempt  to  build  our 
own  liability  and  glory  ! 

Finally,  let  the  uncertainty  of  life  urge  up- 
on every  hearer,  and  efpecially  on  theyoun^r 
who  are  mod  prone  to  prefume  upon  time, 
a  fpeedy  and  earned  concern  for  the  things 
that  belong  to  their pea.ce.  Interefts  of  infi- 
nite moment  demand  your  attention — the 
time  preifes — and  will  you,  like  Felix  pod- 
pone  them  to  a  period  that  may,  probably, 
never  arrive  ?  "  Behold,  now  is  the  accept- 
ed time,  behold,  now  is  the  day  of  falva- 
tion."  God  affords  you  the  prefent  indant 
to  feek  his  mercy,  the  next  is  with  him. — 
One  moment  of  grace  only  is  certainly 
yours,  and  do  you  need  entreaties  and  re- 
mondrances  to  urge  you  to  put  it  to  profit  ? 
Alas !  aimod  all  men  have  iod  that  pre- 

*  MaOIUon. 

3  A 


378  On  Death, 

cioiis  moment  by  delay.  They  promifed 
themfelves  hereafter  to  repent ;  but  death 
cut  (liort  their  hopes  and  refolutions  in  the 
midd.  And  will  you,  ingenuous  youth  I 
in  the  fpring  of  life,  in  the  morning  of  an 
eternal  beins^,  with  this  fearful  and  iniiruft- 
ive  example  before  your  eyes,  be  guilty  of 
the  fame  fatal  error,  and  blafl  all  the  prof- 
pefts  of  immortality  ?  Watch,  tJurefore,for 
ye  know  neither  the  day  nor  the  hour  -wherein 
the  Son  of  Man  cometh.  Haflen  to  the  door 
of  mercy  while  it  is  open  ;  for,  if  your  Lord 
fhall  come  and  find  you,  like  the  foolifh 
virgins,  (leeping  and  unready,  it  fliall  be 
forever  and  inexorably  clofed.  Similar 
warnings,  I  know,  have  been  a  thoufand 
times  given  you  from  the  word  of  God,  and 
perhaps  a  thoufand  times  forgotten.  Shall 
this  at  laft  prove  equally  fruitlefs  ?  It  is  in 
vain,  O  God  !  that  mortals  fpeak.  Bo 
thou  thyfeif  arreft  the  fugitive  and  giddy 
thoughts  that  efcape  from  every  impreihon 
we  would  fix  upon  them.  Penetrate  !  Oh  ! 
penetrate  with  deep  and  effeclual  convic- 
tion the  fecure  and  infenfible  heart !  Thine 
is  the  work  Almighty  God !  Pluck  thefe 
precious  pledges  of  their  parent's  love  from 


On  Death.  379 

everlajting  burnings.  To  thine  infinite  mer- 
cies we  commit  them  !  Gather  the  lavibs  in 
thine  arms,  and  bring  them  to  thy  heaven- 
ly fold  ! 

AMEN  I 


[    sSo    ] 

DISCOURSE     XV. 


ON    THE    LAST    JUDGMENT.* 


.«<^25sii. 


Acts  xvii.  31. 

He  hath  appointed  a  day  wlierein  he  will  judge 
the  world  in  righteoufnefs  by  that  maih 
zchovi  he  hath  ordained,  whereof  he  hath 
given  ajfurance  unto  all  men,  m  that  he 
hath  raijed  him  from  the  dead. 

THE  final  judgment  is  an  event  the  moft 
fublime,  the  moR  awful,  and  intereft- 
ins:  that  fhall  take  place  from  the  com- 
mencement  till  the  confummation  of  time. 
The  everiafling  dellinies  of  angels  and  of 
men  ihali  be  decided  by  the  fupreme  Judge 
arrayed  in  all  the  fplendors  of  omnipotence, 
and  feated  amidil  the  Piaminsc  ruins  of  the 


*  The  plan  of  this  difccurfe  fwas  fuggcfled  at  a  very  early  pe- 
riod of  life  i  by  one  of  Mr.  D  wand's  on  the  fame  fnhjeLl.  It  be'mg 
loner,  however. face  I  have  read  his  frmons.,  a  great  part  of 'which 
I  have  unfortunately  loft,  I  am  not  able  to  make  any  references  to 
f  articular  pajjages  nvhich  on  my  general  principle^  I  ivculd  other- 
nuife  probably  have  done. 


On  the  Loft  Judgment,  381 

univerfe.  If  one  ray  of  the  divine  glory  over- 
whelmed A'lofes,  almoft  confumed  Ifaiah, 
deranged,  for  a  moment,  the  faculties  of 
the  difciples  on  the  mount  of  transfigura- 
tion, robbed  Paul  of  the  powers  of  vifion, 
and  flruck  him,  and  his  companions  to  the 
earth  like  dead  men,  what  wiil  be  the  full 
difplay  of  that  dreadful  magnificence  with 
which  the  Eternal  will  appear  to  deftroy  the 
prefent  fyflem,  and  to  announce  to  finners 
and  to  faints  the  irreverfible  decrees  of  his 

juftice  ! But,  it  is  not  merely  the  fplen- 

dor  of  the  tribunal,  the  grandeur  of  the 
fcene  that  furrounds  it,  nor  the  glories  of 
the  judge  which,  on  this  fubjeft,  ought  to 
arreft  our  attention.  We  have  a  dill  more 
important  intereft  in  the  irrevocable  deci- 
iions  that  fnall  then  be  pronounced  upon 
mankind — decifions  that  ihall  take  their  co- 
lour from  our  conduft  in  the  prefent  life — 
decifions  founded  in  eternal  truth  and  juf- 
tice— decifions  that  fnall  place  our  deftiny, 
beyond  the  power  of  change,  in  hopelefs 
mifery,  or  in  everlafting  felicity. 

One  of  the  mofi:  inftruftive  and  affe6ling 
truths  in  the  whole  compafs  of  revelation 
is,  that  God  hath  appointed  a  day  in  which  he ' 


382  On  the  Loft  Judgment. 

zvill  judge  the  world  in  rightcoufnefs.  What 
confideration  ought  to  poflels  more  power- 
ful influence  over  hun:ian  condu6l?  What 
can  be  more  calculated  to  infpire  men  with 
a  holy  folicitude  to  approve  themfeives  to 
God  whojudgeth  the  heart?  It  is  with  a 
view  to  promote  this  pra6licai  improvement 
of  a  truth  fo  intercliing  that  I  have  chofen 
to  offer  it  to  you  at  prefent  as  the  fubjeft 
of  your  meditations. 

But  Idare  not  attempt  to  reprefent  the 
grandeur  and  fublimity  of  that  fcene — I 
ihould  only  impair  it.  I  limit  my  view  to 
ideas  morehmple,  and,  perhaps,  more  ufe- 
ful — to  illuflrate  thofe  charafters  of  the 
judgment  fuggefLcd  in  the  text — its  certainty 
— its  univerfaiity — its  equity — and  the  glo- 
ry of  the  judge — For,  of  this,  faith  the  Ho- 
ly-Spirit, he  hath  given  affurance  unto  all 
men  that — he  will  judge  the  world — he  will 
judge  it  in  righteouj nejs — he  will  judge  it  by 
that  Tfian  whom  he  hcith  ordained.  You  have 
thus  before  you  the  whole  plan  that  I  pro- 
pofe  to  myfelf  in  the  following  difcourle. 

I.  In  the  firll  place,  I  fliall  endeavour  to 
cfliibliih  the  certainty  of  the  doftrine  that 


On  the  Lajl  Judgment,  383 

God  will,  in  the  conclufion  of  the  prefent 
{late  of  the  world,  appear  to  judge  it,  and 
to  ailign  to  the  righteous  and  wicked  their 
refpe^tive  rewards  in  happinefs,  or  in  mi- 
fery. 

I  have  no  need  to  purfue  this  argument 
in  detail  before  an  affembly  nurfed  and  edu- 
cated in  the  belief  of  the  chriilian  religion, 
and  the  hope  of  immortality.  I  (hall,  there- 
fore, only  recall  to  your  minds,  with  the 
crreateft  brevity,  tlie  grounds  on  which  it 
refls,  that  its  evidence  may  give  a  ftronger 
imprefiion  to  thofe  important  and  pratiical 
truths  that  are  effentially  connefted  with  it. 
For  this  end,  I  purpofe  to  exhibit  to  you,  in 
the  fird  place,  fome  of  the  prefumptions  in 
favour  of  this  doftrine  which  we  derive 
from  reafon,  and  the  general  ftate  of  the 
world,  before  I  appeal  to  the  irrefiiliblc  au- 
thority of  the  facred  writings. 

An  arp-ument,  of  no  inconfiderable  force, 
for  the  certainty  of  a  future  judgment  arifes 
from  the  teftimony,  if  I  may  call   it  fo,  of 
human  nature — that  is,  the  concurrence  of 
all  nations  in  the  belief  and  expePiation  of 
this  PTcat  event.     We  find  it  under  fome 


384  Oh  tlie  Lajl  Judgment 

form  or  other  entering  into  the  religious 
fyftems  of  the  moil  civilized,  and  the   moil 
barbarous  people.*     It   is   written   in  the 
whole  hiftory  of  man.     Whence  this  uni- 
verfal  fuffrage  to  a  doftrine  fo  terrible  in  it- 
felf,  and  that  contains  fo  little  to  invite  the 
world  to  embrace  it  ?  From  one,  or,  per- 
haps, from   all   of  the   following   caufes   it 
feems  probably  to  have  arifen.     From  an 
original  communication  made  by  the  Crea- 
tor to  the  father  of  the  race,  from  whom 
tradition  has  conveyed  it  to  all  his  poRerity 
from  the  necefiary  influence  of  this  truth 
— on  the  order,  and  happinefs  of  fociety — or 
from  a  native  and  indelible  impreffion  on 
the  human  heart,  which  conne6is  the  fenti- 
ment  of  the  juftice  with  that  of  the  exidence 
of  the  deity.     Each  of  thefe  ideas  involves  a 
new  and  important  confirmation  of  the  truth 
of  the  do6lrine.    Tradition,  indeedj  has  often 

*  It  was  taught  by  the  Bramins  of  India,  by  the  Magi  of 
Perfia,  by  the  Druids  of  Gaul,  and  in  the  Colleges  of  Egypt 
and  Chaldea.  It  is  difcovered  even  among  the  uncultivated 
natives  of  America.  And  no  one  can  be  ignorant  that  the 
popular  mythology  of  Greece  and  Rome  contained  the  ele- 
ments of  a  truth  fo  grand  and  interefiing,  in  the  tribunal  of 
Minos,  in  the  happy  helds  of  Elyfium  the  feats  of  perpetual 
delights  to  pure  and  innocent  fouls,  and  in  the  dreadful  abyfs 
of  Tartarus,  its  vi'heels,  its  vultures,  its  flames  and  the  a- 
venging  furies  that  were  fuppofed  to  perfecute  the  guilty. 


On  the  Lc'Ji  Judgment,  38^ 

clothed  it  in  vague  and  fanciful  forms — it 
appears  in  a  juil  and  confident  light  only 
in  tiie  facred  fcripturcs. 

In  addition  to  the  proofs  drawn  from  the 
hiflory  and  mythology  of  nations,  we  derive 
others  from  certain  original  and  univerfal 
fcntiments  of  human  nature.  All  men  have 
a  feelincr  of  rioht  and  w^rongr  in  human  con- 
duel — vice  is  ufually  followed  by  compunc- 
tion and  fear — guilt  is  accompanied  with  a 
fccret  conviftion  of  deferved  punimment. — 
Wlience  thele  ideas,  if  we  are  not  am.enable 
to  a  law  ?  If  we  are  not  accountable  to  a 
Supreme  Judge  ?  Such  a  law  there  is — we 
fee  it  written  on  the  face  of  nature — it  is  in- 
fcribed  on  the  whole  order  of  providence — 
we  feel  it  impreifed  on  the  heart  of  man. 
Theyjhew,  faith  the  apoftle,  the  work  of  tht 
law  ihTitten  in  their  hearts,  the  confcicnce 
attelting  it  by  its  clear  and  powerful  evi- 
dence, their  thoughts,  while  they  are  atiing, 
accujing,  or  excuji^ig  their  own  conduct. — 
Confcience,  like  a  faithful  friend,  is  contin- 
ually reminding  a  good  man  of  the  infpec- 
tion  and  approbation  of  his  Maker  and 
Judge.     But,  to  the  guilty,  it  often  appears 


386  On  iJiC  Lafl.  Judgment, 

like  a  boding  fpcclre  pointing  to  the  lafl:  tri- 
bunal. Are  then  thefe  fentiments  vain  ? 
Do  they  condu6l  to  no  end  ?  Do  they  point 
to  no  truth  ?  Has  God  formed  the  nature 
of  man  with  no  defign  ?  Or,  are  all  his  feel- 
ings only  the  artful  fprings  of  a  delufive  me- 
chanifm  ?  No — they  are  founded  in  truth. — 
They  lead  us  to  the  mod  ferious  of  all 
truths — that  God  hath  appointed  a  day  in 
which  lie  will  judge  the  icorld  in  righteoiif- 
nejs.^ 

The  fame  principle  refults  from  the  par- 
tial and  unequal  diftribution  of  apparent 
juftice  which  takes  place  in  the  courfe  of 
providence.  Although  reafon  clearly  in- 
dicates that  God  mufl  be  the  moral  as  well 
as  phifical  governor  of  the  univerfe,  yet  we 
look  in  vain,  in  this  life,  for  that  complete 
difcrimination  of  charafters,   and  for  that 

*  Every  geiwal ftntlmetit  of  human  nature  points  to  truth. 
The  weaknels  of  reafon  often  renders  us  Hable  to  error  in 
the  deduftions  which  it  draws  from  them ;  yet,  at  bottom 
they  are  always  conneded  with  what  is  true  and  right.  In 
morals,  the  gitieral  fentifuenti  of  mankhid  are  the  genuine 
foundations  of  virtue,  and  the  chief  cement  of  fociety.  They 
are  forever  leading  man  back  to  his  duty  in  fpite  of  the 
force  of  his  paflions,  of  the  miHakes  of  reafon,  and  the  er- 
rors of  theory. 


On  the  Lafl  Judgment.  387 

clear  and  unqueftionable  apportionment  of 
rewards  and  puniftiments  according  to  de- 
fert  which  we  ought  to  expetl  in  the  go- 
vernment of  a  righteous  and  holy  God.— 
How  often  do  we  lee  vice  triumphant,  and 
virtue  opprefl'ed  ?  Injuiiice  and  iraud  grow 
great   on  the  ruins  of  unfufpefting  confi- 
dence ?  Seduftion  flouriih,  while  betrayed 
and  plundered  innocence  is  abandoned  to 
deftra^lion,  or  perpetual  tears?  What   ri~ 
vers  of  blood  have  been  flied  by  the  mur- 
derous hands  of  ambitious  tyrants  ?     And 
how  few   of  them  have  been  arreited,  like 
BelQiazzar,  by  a  fentence  from  Heaven,  and 
in  the  midft  of  their  impious  pleafures,  and 
their  imaginary  glory,  have  paid  the  for- 
feit of  their  crimes  ?     On  the  other  hand, 
do  you  not  fee  them  adorned  with  triumphs, 
crowned  with  glory,  and  their  crimes  them- 
felves  confecrated  for  virtues,  and  eterniz- 
ed in  hillory  ?     Where  do  we  find  in  thefe 
events   the   equity  of  providence  ?      That 
rigorous  juftice  in  the  divine  adminiflration 
which  reafon,  and  the  fentiments  of  nature 
force  us    to  afcribe  to  God?     Sentiments 
original,  native,  indellible — Sentiments  that 
we  can  no  more  tear  from  us  than  our  own 


388  On  the  L't/I  Judgment, 

cxiPtCnce — Sentiments  not  infpired  by  edu- 
cation— not  formed  by  men — not  written, 
like  the  variable  laws  of  nations,  on  brafs 
and  marble,  that  are  corrupted  by  titne, 
but  engraven,  by  the  linger  of  the  Creator 
in  the  bottom  of  our  being,  and  eternal  as 
the  fold.  If  thefe  fentiraents,  then,  are 
fountains  of  truth — if  they  conduct  us,  with- 
out obfcurity,  to  certain  and  demonilrablea 
conclufions,  ought  we  not  to  expeft  that 
divine  juftice  v/ill,  at  fome  period,  vindicate 
the  ways  of  God  to  man  ?  and  that,  after  this 
mixed  ilate  of  difcipline  which  is  neceffary 
to  try,  and  to  form  the  infinite  variety  of 
human  chara^fers  for  a  fuperior  condition 
of  exidence,  there  wdil  reign  a  clear,  deci- 
ded, and  eternal  juflice  in  a  future  world  ? 
Thus,  the  diftates  of  reafon  refer  us  to  a  fu- 
ture judgment,  and  to  a  final  and  righteous 
decifion  of  the  everlafting  dates  6f  men. 

But,  the  chrillian  reds  not  his  belief  of 
this  truth  on  the'  probabilities  of  reafon, 
however  ftrong,  but  on  the  infallible  evi- 
dence of  divine  revelation.  "  God  hath 
appointed  a  day  in  which  he  Vvill  judge  the 
world  in  righteoufnefs,  by  that  man  whom 


On  the  Lofi  Judgment.  389 

he  hath  ordained,  whereof  he  hath  given 
ajfurance  unto  all  men,  in  that  he  hath  raif- 
ed  him  from  the  dead."  The  evidence  of 
this  do61rine,  therefore,  refls  upon  the  fame 
bafis  with  the  evidence  of  chriftianity.  The 
infallible  word  refers  to  it  in  many  allegories 
and  parables — afferts  it  m  exprefs  declara- 
tions— its  whole  fyftern  of  duties,  promifes, 
and  threatenings  neceflarily  implies  it. 

Of  many  parables  fpoken  by  our  blef- 
fed  Lord  that  obvioudy  point  to  this  great 
and  awful  event,  let  me  recal  to  you  only 
that  of  the  tares  fown  in  the  field  along  with 
the  good  feed,*  which  he  interprets  himfelf 
— *'  He  that  foweth  the  good  feed  is  the 
Son  of  P.Ian — the  field  is  the  world — the 
good  feed  are  the  children  of  the  kingdom, 
but  the  tares  are  the  children  of  the  wick- 
ed one — the  harveft  is  the  end  of  the  world 
— and  the  reapers  are  the  angels.  As, 
therefore,  the  tares  are  gathered  and  burnt  in 
the  fire,  fo  Qiall  it  be  in  the  end  of  this  world. 
The  Son  of  Man  fhall  fend  forth  his  angels, 
and  they  (liall  gather  out  of  his  kingdom  all 
things  that  offend,  and  them  that  do  iniqui- 

**  Matthew  xiii.  24,  &c,  37 — 42. 


390  On  the  Lajl  Judgment, 

ty,  and  fliall  caft  them  into  a  furnace  of  lire 
— there  (hall  be  waiiing  and  gnalning  of 
teeth." 

Of  this  fearful  day  there  are,  alfo,  many 
ftrong  and  explicit  declarations  throuohout 
the  word  of  God.  "  The  heavens,  and  the 
earth,  faith  the  apoRle  Peter,  are  kept  in 
(lore,  referved  unto  fire  againll  the  day  of 
judgment,  and  perdition  of  ungodly  men.'"^ 
And  "  Chrift  is  ordained  to  be  the  judge  of 
the  quick  and  the  dead."f  Even  the  ligns 
and  fore-runners  of  that  day  are  diilinttly 
pointed  out — the  earthJhaU  bejiiaken  to  its 
foundations — the  Jlars jhall fall  jrom  heaven 
— the  Junjliall  be  turned  into  darknejs  and 
the  moon  into  blood,  and  the  powers  oj  the  hea- 
vens Jliall  be  Jiiaken,  In  the  midil  of  this 
univerfal  terror  and  confternation,  "  the 
Lord  (liail  defcend  from  heaven  with  aflrout, 
v/ith  the  voice  of  the  arch-angel,  and  the 
trump  of  God,"J  and  before  him  (hall  be 
gathered  all  nations.^  How  awful  then  is 
the  certainty  of  that  day  when  thejecrcts  of 

*   2  Peter  iil.  7. 
-}-   Afts  X.  42. 
+    I  Their,  iv.   16. 
n  Matthev/  ixv.  32. 


On  the  Loft  Judgment,  39^ 

all  hearts  ftiall  be  revealed,  and  the  eternal 
ftates  ot"  all  men  fhall  be  determined ! 

I  proceed  to  illuftrate  the  remaining  char- 
afters  of  the  judgment  fuggcfted  by  the  a- 
poltle  in  the  text — its  univerfaliiy — its  right- 
eoujnefs — and  the  glory  of  the  judge, 

II.  Its  univerfality  embraces  all  men  and 
all  their  a6lions. 

"  And  I  fav/,  faith  John,  a  great  white 
throne,  and  him  that  fat  upon  it,  from  whofe 
face  the  earth  and  the  lieaven  fled  away, 
and  there  was  no  place  for  them.  And  I 
faw  the  dead,  fmall  and  great  ftand  before 
God.  And  the  fea  gave  up  the  dead  which 
were  in  it,  and  death  and  the  grave  deliver- 
ed up  the  dead  which  were  in  them."*  ''All, 
faith  the  apodle  of  the  Gentiles,  mufl:  ap- 
pear before  the  judgment  feat  of  Chri{l"t — 
princes  and  conquerors  of  the  earth  who 
thought  that  all  power  and  judgment  was 
committed  to  their  hands,  as  well  as  the  in- 
numerable crowd  of  their  fubjefts  or  their 

"^   Rev.  XX.  II,  12,  13. 
■\   Romans  xiv,  lo. 


392  On  the  Laji  Judgment, 

flaves — the  infant  who  has  jufl;  looked  into 
the  world,  and  then  cloFed  its  eyes  upon  it 
forever,  as  well  as  thofe  who  have  moved  in 
its  active  fcenes,  and  have  a  train  of  works 
to  follov/  them  to  the  tribunal — the  count- 
lefs  myriads  that  in  all  time  have  peopled 
the  earth  from  the  firil  man  to  the  youngeft 
of  his  fons,  all  (liall  appear  in  one  vafl  af- 
fembly.  What  an  aftonifiiing  fpeftacle  ! 
What  grandeur  does  it  add  to  the  folemni- 
ty  of  the  judgment!  The  trump  of  God 
re-animates  the  keeping  dull  of  fo  many 
ages,  and  calls  from  their  tombs  the  un- 
numbered armies  oi  mankind.  Far  as  the 
eye  can  extend,  you  difcern  the  immenfe 
mafs  agitated  with  hope  and  fear  like  the 
boundiefs  ocean  in  a  Pcorm,  and  moving;  like 
fucceffive  waves  to  the  tribunal  to  render 
their  account  and  receive  their  fentence. — 
There  none  are  too  fmali  to  efcape  the 
penetrating  eye  of  the  judge — none  are 
too  great  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  his 
power.  The  lords  of  the  earth  mingle 
with  their  vadals  in  an  undiilinffuifhed 
crowd.  The  i'ceptrcs  with  v,'hich  they 
ruled  the  nations — the  thrones  that  boaft- 
ed  to  be  eternal — the  infignia  of  their  vanity 


On  the  Lajl  Judgment,  393 

— the  monuments  of  their  power — all   are 
crufiied,  and  pcriih  in  the  ruins  of  the  uni- 
verle — they  are  all  equally  duih  and  allies 
before  the  King  of  Kings,  and  the  Lord  of 
Lords, 

I  add  that  there  all  the  a6lions  of  men,  as 
well  as  men  themfelves,  Ihall  be  brought 
into  judgment. 

In  that  "  day  God  will  judge  the  fecrets 
of  men  by  Jefus  ChripL."'''     And  every  idle 
word  that  men  fliali  fpeak,  they  (iiail  give      \ 
account  thereof  in  the  day  of  judgment. "f 
"  The     Lord    will     bring    to     light    the 
hidden  things  of  darknefs,  and  will  make 
manifell  the  counfels    of  the   heart.";];     A 
book  of  remembrance  is  written  before  him  of 
the  whole  hiilory  of  human  life.     Nothing 
can  efcape  from  his  penetrating,  and  omni- 
fcient  eye.     Every  covering  that  felf-deceit 
had  thrown  over  the  heart,  (hail  be  pierced 
and  ftripped  off.     And   aftions,  thoughts, 
dehgns,  that  had  been  long  loft  from  recol- 
lection, fhall  be  brought  to  lij^ht,  and  ailon- 


*   Romans  ii.  i6. 
f  Matthew  vii.  36. 
X  I  Coriatluaas  iv.  5. 


3C 


394  ^^^  ^^^  ^^fi  J^^^^^'^^'^^' 

j(.h  the  mind  with  its  own  forgotten  hiiloiy. 
The  errors  and  tranfports  of  a  youth  pa  (Ted 
away  in  a  continual  delirium — tlie  purfuits, 
the  plans,  tlie  ardent  occupations  of  mid- 
dle life— the  rooted  habits  of  old  agre — the 
life  we  have  made  of  our  time — the  employ- 
ment of  our  talents — the  cxceiTes  of  our 
palfions — the  errors  of  our  thoughts — the 
unaccompliilied  wilhes  of  the  heart — our 
omiffions  of  duty — cur  aftual  fins — the  fins 
of  others  to  which  v/c  have  unhappily  con- 
tributed, all  iiiall  furround,  and  attend  us 
to  the  tribunal,  and  form,  with  regard  to 
the  guilty,  the  bafis  of  its  fearful  decree  ! 
Ah  !  hov/  profoundly  fliould  we  now  enter 
into  our  own  hearts,  and  fearch  to  the  bot- 
tom, in  order  to  purify  it,  the  unknown 
abyfs  of  iniquity  that  is  concealed  there ! 
With  what  rigor  (hould  we  judge*  ourfelves 
that  we  may  not  be  condemned  with  God  ! 
— Unhappy  are  they,  and  in  the  furc  courfe 
to  perdition,  who  fuifer  '.he  guilty  dream 
of  life  to  pafs  away,  without  frequent,  and 
ierious  recolleftion — without  thorough  ex- 
amination and  knowlege  of  their  ovvn  cha- 
rafter. — With  infinite  aflonifliment  and 
confufion  of  foul  will  they  firfl  learn  their 
own  hillory,  and  their  crimes  at  th.e  bar  of 


On  the  Lfiji  Judgment.  395 

Heaven,  in  the  moment  v;hen  tlicy  are  go- 
in<7  to  be  weisrhed  in  the  balance  of  eiernal 
jufiice. 

III.  This  brino-s  to  view  another,  and 
fliil  more  important  character  of  the  final 
iud foment — God   vvdil    indite  the  v/orld  in 

J  O  JO 

rightcoiifnefs. 

This  decifive  trial  fiiall  turn  on  a  I'all  and 
complete  comparifon  of  the  conduct  of 
men  vrith  the  divine  law  ;  and  the  fentencc 
of  the  ludo-e  (hall  be  that  only  wliich  the 
law  had  before  pronounced.  *•'  I  lav/,  faith 
John,  the  dead  fmall  and  great  ftand  befoae 
God  :  and  the  books  were  opened  ;  and 
and  anotlier  book  was  opened,  v;hich  is  the 
book  of  life  ;  and  the  dead  were  judged  out 
of  thofe  thinp-s  which  were  written  in  the 

o 

books,  according  to  their  works.'"*  The 
books  zcere  opened — that  is,  fays  an  ingenious 
interpreter,  the  books  of  the  refpeclive  laws 
under  which  they  had  lived,  whether  the 
law  of  nature — the  law  of  patriarchal  re- 
velation— the  law  of  Mof^s — or  the  more 
pure  and  perfeft  lav/  of  Cluill.     Confornia> 

^*  Pv-evelations  xx.  12.  Sec. 


^gS  Oil  the  Lift  judgment. 

bly  to  this  idea  the  apoftle  hath  faid,  as 
many  as  have  iinned  without  the  xoritten 
law,  (hall  perifh  without  that  law,  by  the 
fentence  only  of  the  law  of  nature,  and  as 
many   as  have  fmned  in   the  law  fhall    be 

judged  by  the  law.'"* Befide  them  fr.all 

be  placed  the  book  of  life  the  faithful  record 
of    human   aftions  from   the  bdjinningr  of 
tHTiC.     Thus,  on  one  fide,  you  fee  the  laws 
prefcribed   for   the  conduft  of  men  in  the 
hooks  of  the  refpeBive  difpcnfations  under  vjIucIz 
iliey  have  lived ;  on   the  other,  )^ou  fee  the 
hiilory   of   that   condu6l  contained   in   the 
hook  oj  Ife.     There  are  v/ritten   our  privi- 
leges and   opportunities,   our   mercies  and 
corrc6lions,  and  the  improvement  or  abufe 
which  we  have  made  of  them— There  are 
written  the  numbers  of  our  years,  of  our 
days,  of  our  moments,  and  the  duties,  the 
crimes,  the  follies  and  even  the  omilfions 
with  which  they  have  been  filled  up,  or  by 
which  they  have  been  marked.     No  uncer- 
tainty can  exiil,  as  at  human  tribunals,  con- 
cerning the  facls,  more  than  concerning  the 
law.     They  have  all  been  infcribed,  by  the 
impartial  hand  of  God  himfelf,  in  the  eter- 

*  Romans  ii.  12. 


On  the  Lajl  Judgment.  397 

iial  books ;    in  which  are  feen  the   caufes 
from  which  they  fprung — the  circumftances 
with  which  they  were  accompanied — their 
relations  to  others — and  their  confequence^.;";^ 
to  oari'elves,  and  to  mankind  to  the  reraoH^' 
eft  time. 

That  no  form  of  trial  may  be  omitted — 
that  nothing  may  be  wanting  to  the  perfe6l 
equity  of  the  decifion,  our  conduS:  fhall  be 
attefted  by  the  mod  faithful  and  incorrupt- 
ible witnefl'es.  Chriftians  !  your  prayers, 
your  tears,  your  felf- denials,  y our  a6live  zeal, 
your  fuccefsful  labours  in  the  caufe  of 
your  Redeemer,  or  for  the  happinefs  of 
mankind,  ftiall  bear  witnefs  for  you  at  the 
bar  of  God.  Our  Saviour  himfelf  points  to 
the  works  of  charity  and  benevolence  per- 
formed by  his  people  as  the  beft  and  pureft. 
evidences  in  that  day  of  their  fincerity  and 
faithfuinefs — "  For  I  was  hungry,  faith  he, 
and  ye  gave  me  meat — I  was  thirfty,  and  ye 
gave  me  drink — I  was  a  ftranger,  and  ye 
took  me  in — naked  and  yc  clothed  me — 
fick  and  ye  vifited  me — in  prifon  and  ye 
came  unto  me/'"'^     Ilave  you,   then,  been 

*  Mat.  XXV.  ;^5,  36. 


398  On  the  Lqfl  Judgment, 

eyes  to  the  blind,  or  feet  to'  the  lame  ?  Have 
you  fed  the  hungry,  or  clothed  the  naked  ? 
Have  you  relieved  the  afflicted,  and  com- 
forted the  diRreffcd  ?  Have  you  inftru^tcd 
the  ignorant,  and  brought  the  erring  back 
to  the  way  of  truth  and  life  ?  Have  you 
contributed  by  your  difmterciled  liberality, 
or  your  painful  labours — by  your  aftive  in- 
iluence  or  your  pious  example,  to  diffufe  a- 
mong  mankind  the  precious  knov/ledge  of 
divine  truth,  or  to  lend  to  diftant  reo^ions 
the  glorious  light  of  the  gofpel  ?  1  hefe 
blefled  monuments  of  your  charity  and  zeal 
ihali  appear  for  you  in  the  day  oj  the  Lord, 

Parents !  have  you  trained  your  children 
in  the  path  of  virtue,  and  the  fear  of  God? 
Have  you  iolicitoufly  ftudied  to  promote 
their highe{l,their  immortal  interefls  ?  Have 
your  counfels,  your  example,  your  perfua- 
iions,  and  your  prayers  early  touched  their 
hearts  with  the  fentiments  of  piety,  guard- 
ed them  from  dangerous  errors,  and  con- 
duced them  in  the  way  of  everlahing  peace? 
Precious  witnelFes  !  Thefe  dear  and  cherifh- 
ed  pledges  ofyour  love  (hall  rife  up,  and, 
in  the  face  of  the  univerfe,  ihall  calT  you 
blcifed. 


On  the  Laji  Judgment,  <^^^ 

A  cloud  of  witnefTcs  (hall  accompany  fin- 
ners  alfo  to  their  condemnation.  All  whom 
the  unJLift  have  injureai — all  whom  the  art- 
fid  have  beguiled — all  whom  the  licentious 
have  corrupted — all  whom  the  voluptu- 
ous have  reduced — all  whom  the  profligate 
have,  by  their  example,  betrayed  into  vice 
— all  whom  the  impious,  by  pernicious 
principles,  have  alienated  from  virtue — all 
who,  by  any  influence,  or  even  by  any  omif- 
fion  of  others,  have  been  involved  in  difl;re[s, 
or  drawn  into  vice,  fhall  rife  up  in  the  judg- 
ment to  condemn  them. 

Above  all,  confcience  is  a  witnefs  that 
will  raife  a  faithful  and  decifive  teftimonv 
at  that  tribunal.  AH  our  aftions,  and  all 
our  principles  of  aftion,  all  our  fins,  and 
every  defeft  of  duty — our  aclual  crimes,  and 
the  purpofes  of  the  heart  that  have  never 
been  brought  into  aft — the  evils  which  we 
concealed  from  the  world,  and  thofe  which 
we  iludied  to  conceal  from  ourfelvcs,  all 
fliall  be  brought  to  light  by  it,  and  denoun- 
ced to  us  with  a  voice  louder  than  the  thun- 
ders that  rend  the  univerfe. — In  this  life, 
men  flifle  its  diftates  and  remonflrances  in  n 
thoufand  v;ays.     Buhucfs  or  pleafure  pre- 


400  On  the  Lajl  JudgmenL 

vent  its  being  heard — inclination  and  tlie 
habits  of  vice  bias  its  decifions  ;  and  Tin- 
ners, in  the  midft  of  Ufieir  crimes,  often  live 
in  a  great  degree  ol"  fecurity  and  peace. 
But  there,  no  more  caufes  of  felf-deception 
can  exiil — nothing  can  arife  to  bias  its  judg- 
ment, or  to  (lifle  its  voice.  It  (peaks  with 
fearful  energy. — It  anticipates  the  fentence, 
and  vindicates  the  righteoufnefs  of  the  Su- 
preme Judge.  The  fmner  has  not,  in  per- 
iihing,  the  miferable  confolation  of  faying 
that  his  fate  is  hard  or  unjuft.  His  fright- 
ful remorfe  confirms  the  decree  by  which 
he  is  configned  io  evcrlajlmg  burnings.  God 
hath  appointed  a  day  in  which  he  will  judge  the 
zvorld  in  righteoujnefi, 

IV.  He  will  judge  it,  finally,  hy  that  man 
whom  he  hath  ordained.  Although  he  is  man 
he  comes  invefted  with  the  glories  of  the 
Deity,  and  armed  with  the  powers  of  om- 
nipotence. Once  he  fojourncd  upon  earth 
for  our  falvation  ;  but  his  divinity  was  veil- 
ed under  the  frailties  of  human  nature — 
he  now  appears  upon  the  throne  of  the  uni- 
verfe  as  the  judge  of  the  quick  and  dead,  and 
the  fplendors  of  the  godhead  feem  to  have 
abforbed  in  thcmfclves  all  that  is  human. 


On  the  Laji  Judgment,  401 

■ — What   language  can   defcribe,  or  what 
thought  can  comprehend  that  power  that, 
with   a  word   diiiblves   the  worlds  which, 
with  a  word,  he  had  created  ?  Who  can 
conceive  <:)f  thaj:  celeftial   effulgence  that 
will  make  the  radiance  of  the  fun  look  likd\ 
darknefs — that  would  con  fume  mortals  if\ 
they  v/ere  admitted  to  behold  it— and  that 
will  require  the  regenerated  powers  of  im- 
mortality to  enable  them  to  fuflain  the  view. 
Ah  !  what  a  difference  between  the  manger 
and  the  (lalls  v/here  oxen  fed,  and  the  glo- 
rious throng  of  heavenly /)^ri'fr J-  and  doviun- 
ions  that  now  encircle,  and  wait  upon  their 
Lord  !  What  an  infinite  difparity  between 
the  crofs   on  wdiich  he  expired  for  the  re- 
demption, and  the  throne  on  which  he  fits 
for  the  judgment  of  mankind!  But,  on  this 
fubjecl,  language  is  impotent,  and  the  mind 
fatigues  itfelf  in  vain  to  grafp  thofe  bound- 
lefi  ideas. 

His  glory  and  majcfly  are  heightened  by 
the  (^ieadful  effcclsofhis  power,  and  the 
infinite  decifions  of  his  juftice.~-Of  eacli  let 
us  take  a  (hort  review. 


3  D 


\a. 


402  On  the  Loft  Judgment. 

\  John  beheld  him  in  viUon,  and  "  the  fun 
became  black  as  fackcloth  of  hair,  and 
the  moon  became  as  blood — and  before  his 
face  the  heaven  departed  as  a  fcroll  when 
it  is  roiled  together/''^  "  In  that  day,  faith 
the  apoftle  Peier,  the  heavens  (hall  pafs  a- 
v.'av  with  a  preat  noife,  and  the  elements 
fhall  melt  with  fervent  heat—the  earth 
alfo,  and  the  works  that  are  therein,  Ihall 
be  burnt  up.' r  From  the  foot  of  his  throne 
iffue  the  thunders  that  rend  the  v/orld  to 
pieces,  and  the  lightnings  that  fet  it  on  hre. 
In  his  hands  he  carries  the  fates  of  men  and 
angels.  In  one,  he  holds  the  treafures  of 
divine  mercy — in  the   other  he  bears  the 

{lores   of  the  torath  of  God. Seated  in 

glory  inexprelhble,  he  cahs  mankind  to 
judgment — he  hears  their  pleas — he  exam- 
ines their  life — he  produces  before  them  the 
teilimony  of  their  works. 

At  length,  it  remains  for  him  onl)^  to 
pronounce  the  decifive  fentence.  The 
trumpet,  the  thunders,  the  lightnings,  the 
earthquakes,  and  the  flames  have  done  their 

*   Rev.  vi.  12 — 14. 
f  2  Peter  iii.  10. 


On  the  Lqji  Judgment,  403 

olTice,  aud  the  defolatcd  univciTe  is  held  in 
profound  filence.  Alrrady  the  fatal  repara- 
tion oF  the  wicked  is  made  from  tiie  righte- 
ous. According  to  his  own  reprefentation 
in  his  bieiTed  golpel,  the  righteous  are  col- 
lefted  on  his  right  hand,  like  innocent 
Jlieep  under  the  protection  of  a  tender  and 
affeclionate  fliepherd — the  wicked,  like  pur- 
fued  and  trembling  Foals,  rancjed  on  his 
left,  expeft  his  dreadful  decree.  Dire6ling 
himfelf  to  the  right  with  iniinite  complacen- 
cy, he  addrelTes  thofe  pure  and  virtuous 
fouls  who  have  been  redeemed  out  of  all 
nations,  ''  come  ye  blelTed  of  my  father,  in- 
herit the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world"' — .\nd,  in- 
flantly,  you  behold  ncza  heavens,  and  a  neio 
earth  wherein  dwelleih  righteGuJnefs,  fp ring- 
ing from  the  ruins  of  the  old,  drefied  in  ce- 
leitial  beauty,  and  prepared  to  be  the  im- 
mortal habitations  of  the  bleffed. — Then 
turning  to  the  left — this  is  not  a  piduie  of 
fancy — it  is  not  the  flruclure  of  a  heated 
imanrination  that  often  builds  its  fables  on 

o 

unreal  grounds,  it  is  the  zoord  of  God — turn- 
ing to  the  left,  he  pronounces  on  the  guilty 
the  fearful  decree  of  eternal  juftice — 
*'  depart  ye  curfed  into  cvcrlafling  fire  pre- 


404  On  the  Lajl  judgment. 

pared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels" — In- 
Handy  all  the  thunders  of  heaven  break 
upon  them  ;  and  down  they  are  impetuouf- 
ly,  and  irreOrtibly  driven  into  the  unfa- 
thomable abyfs  of  fire  and  fulphur,  whence 
the  jmoke  of  their  torment  ajcendeth  for 
ever  and  ever,.  The  tremendous  covering 
of  Hell  cloies  upon  them,  and  the  everlaft- 
ing  bolts  of  its  fatal  doors  are  (hot  by  the 
hand  of  the  Almighty. — Oh!  my  foul!: 
come  not  thou  into  their  fecrets^  nor  be 
partaker  of  their  end ! 

My  brethren,  this  fublime,  and  awful 
termination  of  the  w^orld  has  not  been  re- 
vealed by  God  as  a  fubjeft  merely  of  curi- 
ous fcience.  I  have  not  chofen  it  to  amufe 
the  feafon  of  public  worfliip,  or  to  gratify 
that  love  of  grand  and  marvellous  fcenes 
fo  natural  to  man.  It  is  a  fubjecl  in  which 
we  have  the  deepell  intereft,  and  which 
claims  to  have  the  mod  powerful  influence 
on  human  conduft.  It  is,  indeed,  one  of 
thofe  truths  mofl  important  to  morals.  Mo- 
rals can  have  no  exiftence  amonsr  mankind 
independent  on  the  idea  of  immortality, 
and,  conne6led  with  this,  of  the  final  and 
righteous  judgment  of    God.     Seeing  all 


On  the  Lajl  Judgiiunt,  405 

thefe  things  Jliall  be  dijfolved,  what  manner  of 
perfons  ought  we  to  be  in  all  holy  converja- 
tion  and  godlmejs  ? 

Before  that  omnlfcient  Judge,  In  whofe 
prefence  the  heavens  are  not  clean,  no  im- 
purity can  pafs  uncondemned,  no  hypocrify 
uncovered,  no  felf-deceit  undetected.  Our 
whole  hiliory  fliall  be  developed.  And 
every  idle  word  that  menjhall  Jpeak,  theyjhall 
give  account  thereof  in  the  day  of  judgment. 
\Vhat  an  air  of  folemnity  does  this  confider- 
tion  throw  over  the  whole  of  life !  Over  its 
mod  vacant  as  well  as  its  moil  bufy  moments ! 
Over  its  lawful  amufements,  as  well  as  its 
ferious  offices  !  They  all  have  a  relation  to 
that  day  of  trial,  and  to  our  everlafting  Hate. 
This  life,  otherwife  fo  vain  and  fleeting,  ac- 
quires hence  a  reality  and  fubilance.  The 
judgment  (lamps  every  moment  of  it  with 
fome  characler  of  immortality. — Whateverj 
therefore,  you  undertake  or  do,  in  the  light- 
ell  pallimes,  as  well  as  the  moft  important 
duties  of  life,  raife  your  thoughts  to  that 
decifive  tribunal,  and  demand  of  your  own 
heart,  what  account  (hall  I  render  of  this  to 
God  my  judge?  A  wife  and  good  man  will 
do  nothing  which  he  will  fear  to  have  re- 


4o5  On  (he  Lajl  Judgvienf. 

vealedathis  bar — he  will  engage  in  nothing 
in  which  he  will  not  be  willing  to  be  found 
at  his  appearance. 

Bid  zvho  may  abide  the  day  of  his  coming  ?' 
and  who Jiiall  Jiand  when  he  appearelh?  He 
who  hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart.  Pu- 
rity and  virtue  only,  fuftained  by  the  pro- 
mife  and  the  grace  of  the  Redeemer,  can 
appear  ferene  and  undifmayed  amidft  the 
univerfal  conllernation.  Virtue  is  a  mail 
of  adamant  that  cannot  be  hurt  in  the  con- 
vulfion  of  worlds.  The  good  man,  with 
humble  and  devout  triumph,  from  the  midft 
of  the  chaos,  lifts  his  eyes  to  the  tribunal, 
and  in  his  Judge,  beholds  his  Saviour. — 
But  guilt  will  aggravate  its  horrors  a  thou- 
faod  fold.  Then  Jiiall  they  cry  to  the  moun- 
tains and  the  rocks  fall  on  us  and  hide  us  from 
the  face  of  him  thaifitteth  on  the  throne,  and 
from  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb,  for  the  great  day 
of  his  wrath  is  come,  and  who  f hall  be  able  to 
Jiand  P  Wherefore,  beloved,  feeing  ye  look  for 
fuch  things,  be  diligent  that  ye  be  found  of  him 
in  peace,  xoithout  f pot  and  blamelefs. 

Finally,  God  hath  left  this  day  in  an  in- 
tereiling,  and   awful  uncertainty   that  we 


On  the  Lajl  Judgment,  407 

may  not  prcfume  upon  time,  but  hold  our- 
felves  always  ready  ior  its  approach.  Stand, 
therefore,  xoith  your  loins  girded  and  your 
lamps  burning  ;  for  you  know  not  what  hour 
your  Lord  iciLl  ccme.  At  midnight,  \n  your 
mod  fecure  and  unfufpefting  moments,  iJie 
^^^vmay  be  made.  We  have  no  aiTurance  that 
he  is  not  even  now  preparing  his  throne. — 
And  if,  at  this  moment,  he  (hould  defcend — 
if  the  heavens  above  our  heads  were  cleav- 
ing to  make  way  for  the  Judge — if  the 
flames  were  nov/  feizing  on  the  univerfe — 
and  the  trum.pet  of  the  Arch- Angel  were 
calling  the  living  and  the  dead  to  judgment, 
how  are  we  prepared  for  the  great  event  P 
Where  (hould  v/e  Hand  ?  What  would  be 
your  defiiny  my  brethren  ?  O  my  foul ! 
what  would  be  thine  ? — Although  the  pe- 
riod of  the  world  is  not  arrived,  Death, 
who  is  the  meliengrer  to  arrefl  us  for  iud^- 
ment,  is  always  near,  and  ready  to  feize  up- 
on his  prifoners.  And  in  whatever  Rate  he 
lays  upon  us  his  frozen  hand,  he  feals  us  up 
to  the  day  of  retribution.  My  beloved  breth- 
ren, let  us,  therefore,  be  ever  prepared  for 
the  moment  of  our  departure,  as  for  the  aw- 
ful and  decifive  moment  of  our  judgment. 
And  grant,  O  righteous  and  mercirul  Judge 


4o8  On  the  Lajt  Judgment, 

of  the  world !  through  the  merits  of  thy 
own  moft  precious  death  and  rerurre6lion, 
that,  in  that  day,  we  may  (land  at  thy  right 
hand,  and  rife  with  thee  to  everlafting  hfe  ! 

AMEN ! 


[    409    ] 
DISCOURSE     XVI. 

ON    THE    HAPPINESS    OF    GOOD    MEN 
IN    A    FUTURE     STATE. 


■M9CM£^^^^^£^I9WB 


Revelation  xiv.  13. 

That  they  may  rcjtfrom  their  labors,  and  their 
works  do  follow  them, 

THIS  is  the  benediftion  pronounced  by 
the  Spirit  of  God  on  thofe  who  die  in 
the  Lord.  It  was  probably  delivered  to 
that  beloved  difciple,  and  evangelical  pro- 
phet, who  is  generally  held  to  be  the  v/ri- 
ter  of  the  revelations,  during  the  rage  of 
fome  of  thofe  deftruftive  perfecutions  that 
wailed  the  primitive  church.  The  faithful 
difciples  of  Chrift,  were  then  often  called 
to  fcal  with  their  blood,  their  attachment 
to  their  Lord,  and  to  the  precious  truths 
which  they  had  received  from  him.  Their 
way  through   life  was   encompalFed  with 


410        The  Happincfs  of  Good  Men 

enemies,  they  were  engaged  in  frequent  and 
arduous  conilifts,  expofed  to  perpetual  dan- 
gers, and  were  daily  obliged  to  meet  death 
(urrounded  with  thofe  circumftances  that 
render  it  moft  formidable  to  the  weaknefs 
of  human  nature.  To  confoie  and  fupport 
them  under  fo  many  fufferings  and  trials, 
this  gracious  benedidion  was  pronounced. 
But  it  is  not  confined  in  its  application  to 
the  martyrs  who  glorified  their  Saviour  by 
an  illuftrious,  but  painful  death.  As  every 
part  of  the  word  of  God  is  of  general  ufe, 
fo  this  is  applicable  to  every  believer  who 
dies  in  the  Lord — who  fmcerely  profefles  his 
name,  in  the  midft  of  a  fmful  world — who 
is  educated  in  his  fchool,  and  imbibes  his 
fpirit — and  who  is  united  to  him,  as  a  mem- 
ber to  the  head,  by  a  vital  faith.  In  virtue 
of  this  intimate  and  indiffoluble  relation 
they  triumph  with  him  over  the  miferies  of 
life,  over  the  power  of  fm  the  fource  of  all 
our  other  evils,  over  the  terrors  of  death, 
and  over  the  dominion  of  the  grave. 

The  world  is  filled  with  many  caufes  of 
afiliftion  and  diftrefs  to  every  good  man, 
that  mud  render  the  iirave  to  him  at  lencvth 
a  defirable  retreat,     A,ud  the  promife  o* 


in  a  Future  State.  411 

eternal  life,  after  his  labors  and  fiifferings 
are  terminated  here,  offers  to  his  hopes  a 
flate  of  peace  and  fehcity,  after  which  he 
muft  often  fecretly  figh — He  Jliall  refc  from 
his  labors y  and  his  works  JJiall  follow  him. 
Of  thefe  exprelTions,  both  of  which  are  fi- 
gurative, the  hril  implies  a  profound  and 
eternal  repofe,  not  only  from  all  ihefatigues 
of  duty,  but  from  all  the  agitations,  the 
conRi6ls,  the  griefs,  the  miferies,  that 
affli6l  this  mortal  {late.  The  fecond  points 
to  the  felicity  of  a  true  believer,  w4ien  he 
fhall  finally  receive  the  reward  of  his  virtue, 
and  efpecially  of  his  pious  and  faithful 
labors  in  the  fervice  of  his  Redeemer. 

It  is  v/ith  a  view  to  illuftrate,  as  far  as 
without  prefumption  I  may  attempt  it,  the 
future  happinefs  of  good  men  men,  I 
have  chofen  the  text,  w^hich  I  make  the 
ground  of  the  following  difcourfe. 

They  rcjtfrom  their  labors,  and  their  works 
do  follow  them, 

Thefe  figures  point  out  to  them  a  double 
fource  of  happinefs— Red,  and  Enjoy- 
ment. 


4 1 2         TJie  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

They  reft  from  their  labors,  from  xhtif 
toils,  from  their  fms,  from  their  temptations, 
from  their  fervices,  from  their  fufferings  in 
the  world — tkeir  loorks  follozc  them  as  the 
ioundation  of  their  eternal  felicity  in  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven. 

I.  In  the  fall  place,  the  happinefs  of  the 
pious  in  the  future  (late  may  be  confidered 
as  a  delightful  reft  from  the  neceflary  evils 
and  fuifermgs  of  the  prefent  life. 

The  pilgrimage  through  which  man  is 
deftined  to  pafs,  is  befet  with  dangers,  and 
expofed  to  almoft  continual  caufes  of  af- 
fliclion  and  pain.  However  we  may  at- 
tempt to  exagerate  the  enjoyments  of  the 
world,  or  pamt  them  in  the  deluhve  co- 
louring which  the  imagination  is  prone  to 
i^ive  to  the  pleafures  of  fenfe  ;  certain  it  is 
that  the  molt  virtuous,  and  the  mou  happy 
of  men,  are  agitated  with  innumerable  foli- 
citudes,  and  have  innumerable  miferies  to 
deplore,  before  they  fubmit  to  death  the 
lait  of  human  miferies  upon  earth.  Youth^ 
v/hich  is  ever  fanguine  and  full  of  hopes, 
may  not  feel — profperity,  which  is  too  often 
blind  and  delirious,  may  deny  the  reallity 


in  a  Future  State.  413 

of  this  reprefentation  ;  but  time  will  verify 
it  to  all  men. — Has  not  time  verified  it  al- 
ready ?  Who  is  there  who  can  fay  that  he 
is  happy  ?  He  only  hopes  to  be  fo.  It  is 
hope,  not  poficiTion,  that  forms  the  princi- 
pal happinefs  of  life.  Were  we  cut  off  from 
the  refoarce,  and,  may  I  not  call  it,  the  fal- 
lacious lolace  of  hope,  the  v/orld  would 
have  little  left  by  which  to  attach  us  to  it. 
When  we  conOder  how  much  we  fuffer  in 
the  prefcnt  Hate,  from  the  errors  and  the 
weaknefs  of  the  underftanding— from  the 
heart,  that  anxious  feat  of  fo  many  irregular 
appetites,  and  tumultuous  palTions — from 
want — from  the  hatred  or  contempt  of 
others — from  the  lofs,  or  the  atllittions  of 
our  friends — from  reverfes  of  fortune — 
from  difappointed  expeftations — from  pains 
and  difeafes^  that  prey  upon  the  body — 
from  fee  ret  griefs  that  undermine  and  con- 
fume  the  health — from  the  murderous  wea- 
pons of  avowed  enmity — from  the  arrows 
fhot  in  the  dark  by  envy,  calumny,  and  per- 
fidious friendlhip — What  a  wretched  habi- 
tation is  the  earth  ?  What  a  defirable  re- 
treat is  the  grave  ?  Death  yields  us,  at  laf}, 
a  delightful   reft  from   fo  many  evils.     It 


4 1 4        '^^^^  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

breaks  from  man  the   fetters  by  which  he 
is  enchained  to  his  miferies. 

As   thefe  miferies  flow  from  fm  as   their 
primary  caufe  ;  fo  fin  itfelf  is  efteemed  by  a 
good  man,  the  greateft  of  his  evils.     From 
its  hated  and  lamented  tyranny,  he  finds  in 
death  a  complete  and  eternal  reft.     He  is 
delivered  from  temptations  that  fo  frequent- 
ly harrafled  him,  that  put  his  virtue  to  the 
moft  painftd  proofs,   and  often  (hook  it  to 
the  foundations — he  is  freed   from   the  er- 
rors and   prejudices   that  had  covered  his 
mind  with  dillrefling  clouds,  which  perplex- 
ed and  obfcured  to  him  the  law  of  his  duty 
— he  is  forever  purided  from  thofe  frailties 
and  corruptions  which,  notwithilan ding  his 
lanftification,  ftill   adhered  to  him  in  this 
world,  wounded  his  peace,  and  daily  pene- 
trated his  heart  with  grief  at  the  throne  of 
grace.     In  the  grave  he  puts   off  this  body 
of  fin  and  death,  and  his  foul,  admitted  to 
its  heavenly  reft,  has  no  more  pains  to  en- 
dure, no  more  conftifts  with  the  world,  and 
its  own  rebellious  paftions  to  maintain,  no 
more  imperfections  to  fill  it  with  regret  or  to 
cover  it  with  ftiame,  no  more  v/ants  to  fatisfy, 
no  more  evils  to  fufier.no  more  tears  to  fiied. 


iii  a  Future  State.  415 

No  more  fhall  he  ofFend  God,  infinitely 
holy  and  good,  whom  he  adored  and  loved, 
even  in  thofe  moments  when  the  frailties  of 
his  nature  led  him  into  fin.  No  more  fliall 
he  be  expofed  to  the  feeret  fnares,  or  open 
affaults  of  temptation,  nor  to  thofe  invitati- 
ons and  opportunities  fo  dangerous  to  the 
paflions.  Freed  from  the  irregular  impulfcs 
of  the  fenfes,  of  the  imagination,  of  the 
heart,  and  delivered  from  an  impure  and 
imperfect  nature,  he  fnall  fin  no  more. — 
From  an  elevated  point  of  view,  looking 
back  on  all  the  journey  of  life,contempIating 
its  evils,  and  its  dangers,  which  he  has  juit 
efcaped — its  follies,  its  ofTences,  and  its  lalls 
v/hich  have  fo  often  dilTolved  him  in  repen- 
tance before  the  footftool  of  divine  mercy, 
with  what  unfpeakable  fatisfaftion  v/ili  he 
fee  himfelf  arrived  at  a  ftate  of  everlafting 
repofe  from  all  his  fufferings,  and  his  fears, 
and  placed,  by  the  power  and  grace  of 
God,  in  a  happy  and  eternal  impotence  of 
finning  ! 

I  add,  that  the  believer  in  dying,  for- 
fakes  this  wTetched  world,  in  which 
he  had  lived,  in  fubmiflion  to  the  will 
of  God,  as  in  a  Itrange  land;  and  arrives  at 


4 1 6         The  Happinefs  of  Good  Mc7i 

his  proper  home  ;  that  land  of  peace  and 
reft  which  he  had  lb  long  fought  to  find, 
and  to  which  he  was  continually  tending 
in  the  affeftions  and  defires  of  his  heart. — 
The  earth,  to  a  good  man,  is  a  ftate  of  ex- 
ile from  all  that  he  moft  fervently  loves, 
and  from  the  fources  of  his  deareft 
pleafures.  He  is  furrounded  with  all  the 
fatigues,  and  anxieties,  the  diftreffes  and 
wants  which  accompany  that  afflifted  con- 
dition ;  and  from  them  all  he  gains,  at 
death,  a  delightful  repofe  in  the  bofom  of 
his  heavenly  country.  The  children  of  this 
v/orld,  enliaved  to  their  appetites,  vmofe 
pleafures  do  not  rife  above  its  fenfual  and 
corrupted  fphere,  cannot  enter  into  thefe 
ideas.  The  prefent  life  bounds  their  enjoy- 
ments and  their  v/iflies ;  and  this  world  in 
which  they  would  be  v/iiling  to  live  forever, 
they  cannot  regard  as  a  place  of  exile.  But 
thofe  rigrhteous  fouls  w"ho  third:  after  im- 
mortal perfection,  and  continually  afpire 
after  nearer  accefs  and  conformity  to  God, 
feel  themfelves  to  be  only  pilgrvms  and 
Jlrangers  upon  earth,  and  while  they  pafs 
through  this  vale  of  tears,  they  figh  for  a 
better,  that  is  an  heavenly  country — for  that 
city  that   hath  eternal  foundations^   whofe 


Ill  a  Future  State,  417 

builder  and  maker  is  Gud.  Often  they  re- 
femble  the  exiled  and  dirconfolate  Jews 
by  ike  rivers  of  Babylon,  when  they  hung  their 
harps  upon  the  zoillows,  and  fat  down  and 
wept  when  they  remembered  Zion.  They  are 
in  a  foreign  and  hoftile  land.  All  their 
plcafures  and  their  hopes  are  placed  in  the 
new  Jervjalem,  in  the  heavenly  Zion,  in  the 
city  and  temple  of  the  living  God.  How  often, 
under  the  lively  imprelhons  of  the  divine 
v/ord ;  or  in  devout  retirement,  wrapt  in 
the  contemplation  of  heavenly  things,  have 
they  been  ready  to  cry,  with  the  holy 
Pfalmill  under  the  prefiure  of  his  troubles, 
"  Oh  that  I  had  winces  like  a  dove  !  for 
then  would  I  flee  av/ay  and  be  at  red.'* 
BlefTed  citizens  of  Heaven !  baniQied,  at 
prefent,  to  thefe  abodes  of  mifery  and  vice, 
death  (hall  ere  lonsj  furnifh  voii  with  the 
wings  you  defire.  Then,  taking  your  im- 
mortal flight,  you  fliall  enter  the  delight- 
ful regions  of  that  celeftial  country  which, 
unfeen,  you  love,  and  take  poliefhon  of 
your  celellial  and  everlafci ng  home.  Elefjed 
are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord  ;  for  they 
reft  from  their  labors,  from   their  fufferings, 

*  Pfalms  Iv.  6. 

3F 


41 8        The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

from  their  fins,  from  their  griefs,  from  all 
the  fatigues,  the  folicitudes,  and  pains  of 
this  mortal  exile. 

The  road  of  virtue  was  fa  id  by  the  an- 
cients to  be  up-hill,  and  to  rife  along  the  fide 
of  a  mountain,  every  where  filled  with  craggs 
and  precipices  of  fleep  and  laborious  afcent, 
and  encompaiTed  with  dangers  that  require 
the greateft  vigilance  and  fortitude,  to  efcape 
or  overcome.  This  reprefentation  has  lb 
much  truth   that  the  faithful  difcharge  of 

o 

the  duties  that  lie  upon  us  as  men,  as  citi- 
zens, and  as  chriPdans,  requires  the  mofl 
vigilant  attentions,  and  frequently  the  moil 
arduous,  painful  and  perfevering  labors. 
And  the  difficulties  and  oppofitions  with 
which  we  meet  from  our  hearts,  from  our 
infirmities,  and  from  the  world,  will  never 
fufPer  us  to  intermit  our  attentions,  or  ta 
ceafe  our  exertions. 

Some  labors,  and  folicitudes  there  are 
peculiar  to  the  minifters  of  the  gofpel,  or, 
if  not  peculiar,  which  affeO:  them  in  a  high- 
er degree  than  other  men,  arifing  from  the 
lioililities  of  the  v/orld  aoainll  religion  which 

o  o 

thev  are  called  to  combat — from  the  crimes 


in  a  Future  State.  419 

of  finners  againfL  which  they  have  at  once 
to  remondiate  and  to  pray — from  the  errors 
or  the  coldnefs  of  the  vifible  difciplcs  of 
Chriil,  over  which  they  are  obliged  in  fecret 
to  weep — from  the  pride  and  infolence  of 
power  and  wealth  which  are  ready  to  tram- 
ple with  contempt  on  an  humbled  and  mor- 
tified profelhon — from  the  infirmities  and 
fins  of  their  own  hearts  which  affli£l  them 
fo  much  the  more  as  their  calling  is  more 
holy,  and  as,  miniilering  at  the  altar,  they 
approach  nearer  to  God  than  other  men — 
in  a  word,  from  the  arduous  fun6lions  in 
which  they  are  engaged.  Although  many 
confolations  accompany  the  duties  of  a  pi- 
ous minifi;er  of  religion,  when  he  confiders 
that  all  the  facrifices  he  makes,  and  the 
pains  he  endures  are  for  the  glory  of  his 
Redeemer,  and  the  higheft  interefis  of  man- 
kind, yet  they  arc  often  attended  with  fa- 
tigues that  exhauit  the  body,  and  cares  that 
harrafs  the  mind,  and  often  are  they  embit- 
tered by  many  fecret  caufcs  of  affliction  and 
grief.  From  all  thefe  evils  he  obtains  at 
death  an  everlaRing  releafe  in  that  blelTed 
region,  where  '-'God  fhall  wipe  av/ay  all 
tears  from  their  eyes,  and  there  fnall  be  no 
more  death,  ncidicr  forrov/    nor   crying; 


420         The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

neither  (liall  there  be  any  more  pain."^ 
"  And  the  ranfomed  of  the  Lord  (hall  come 
to  Zion  with  fongs,  and  everlafting  joy  up- 
on their  heads  ;  and  they  (hall  obtain  joy 
and  gladnefs,  and  forrov\r  and  fighing  fliail 
flee  away."f  Oh  how  dehrable  vo  retreat 
from  all  thefe  griefs,  thefe  conflicts,  thefe 
wearifome  toils,  thefe  anxio-js  cares,  to  an 
eternal  refl  !  A  refl  where  the  fervice  of  the 
Redeemer,  which  forms  the  glory  and 
felicity  of  the  pious  foul,  ftiall  never  be 
intermitted  ;  and  where  it  fliall  be  forever 
free  from  all  the  imperfections  that  mar, 
and  from  all  the  fuflerin^-s  that  afflicl 
it  in  this  mortal  ftate.  As  the  firfl  fubjeft 
of  conhderation  concerning  the  future  hap- 
pinefs of  good  men,  fuggefled  in  the  text, 
is  Reft, 

II.  The  fecond  is  enjoyment — "  their 
works  do  follow  them." 

This  figurative  language  evidently  points 
to  that  high  ?indipoJitive  ftate  of  felicity  which 
the  faints  fliall  enjoy  in  heaven,  which  is 
the  confequence  and  reward  of  their  works. 

*   Revelations  xxi.   3, 
f  Ifaiah  xxxv.  zc. 


in  a  Future  State.  421 

It  conveys  to  us  alfo,  in  the  mode  of  exprcf- 
fion,  two  other  truths  of  the  higheft  impor- 
tance—the firit,  that  the  habits  of  a  holy  Hfe 
are  neceffary  to  qualify  men  for  the  poffef- 
fion    of  heaven  ;  becaufe,    without    them, 
they  neither  could  defire  it  as  their  abode, 
nor  could  they  enjoy  the  pure  and  fpiritual 
pleafures  that   conftitute  to  the  pious,  the 
happinefs  ofthe   place.— The  fecond,   that 
their  rewards  there  (hall  be  proportioned  to 
the  advances  they  have  made  in  the  divine 
life ;  and  to  the  labors  they  have  endured, 
the  dangers  they  have  encountered,  and  the 
fervices  they  have  performed  for  the  benefit, 
and  above  all,  for  the  f^dvation  of  mankind, 
which   is  the  fervice   of  Jefus  Chrill,  their 
mafter  and  their  Lord.     On  this  fubjed  the 
apoftle  Paul  hath  taught  us,  "  he  that  fow- 
eth   fparingly  (hall  reap  fparingly,  and  he 
that  foweth  bountifully  Ihall  alfo  reap  boun- 
tifully."^-   There  is  one  glory  ofthe  Sun,  and 
another  glory  of  the  Moon,  and  another  glo- 
ry ofthe  Stars,  and  one  Star  differeth  from 
another  in  glory  ;  fo  alfo  (liall  it  be  in  the 
refurrettion  of  the  dead."t     The  mod  pi- 

*  2.  Cor.  ix.  6. 

I  I.  Cor.  XV.  41 — 42. 


422         The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

ous,  faithful,  andfuccefsfal  fervants  of  Jefas 
Chriilfhall  fliine  wiih  the  higrheft  luRre,  and 
enjoy  the  mod  confummate  happinefs  in  his 
eternal  kingdom.  What  an  animating  mo- 
tive was  this  to  the  fortitude  of  the  primitive 
martyrs  !  What  an  ilkiftrious,  what  a  divine 
encouragement  is  it  to  the  duty  of  every 
believer  in  Chrift  !  If  he  does  not  reap  his 
reward  in  this  world,  he  Ihail  receive  one 
proportionably  more  rich  and  glorious  in 
the  world  to  come ;  where  "  the  wife  fhall 
{hine  as  the  brightnefs  of  the  firmament,  and 
they  that  turn  many  to  righteoufnefs  as  the 
ftars  forever  and  ever."*  Let  us  my  breth- 
ren, remember,  however,  the  great  and  fun- 
damental doclrine,  laid  by  the  apoRies  at 
the  foundation  of  our  hopes,  that  "  it  is  not 
by  toorks  of  righteoifnefs  which  we  have 
done,  but  by  grace  we  are  faved."  Thofe 
works  cannot  be  prefented  at  the  throne  of 
divine  jufiice,  as  forming  any  abfolute  claim 
to  the  rewards  of  heaven  ;  but  they  become, 
by  the  gracious  promife  of  God,  the  title  of 
a  believer  to  a  recompence  that  infinitely 
tranfcends  any  claim  that  can  be  grounded 
on  the  merit  of  human  obedience.     They 

*  Dan.  \n.  3. 


in  a  Future  State, 


423 


follow  him,  not  as  a  meritorious  meafure  ; 
but  as  meafuring,  fo  to  fpeak,  the  infinite 
proportions  of  divine  grace  and  of  heavenly 
glory. 

The  gradations  of  rank,  fplendor  and 
felicity  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  are  but 
faintly  and  obfcurely  marked  to  us  in  holy 
fcripture.  It  is  more  eafy  to  impart  to 
minds  like  ours  fome  general  apprehenfions 
of  the  glory  and  perfeftion  of  the  Hate  of 
heaven,  than  nicejy  to  trace  its  degrees.  A 
fcale  of  this  kind  requires  a  knowledge  of 
the  fubjecl  more  accurate  and  juft  than  our 
limited  faculties  are  able  to  receive  even 
from  the  holy  fpirit  of  infpiration.  Such  a 
fcale  was  not  necefiary  to  the  end  for  which 
this  revelation  v^^as  made  to  the  divine  St. 
John,  which  was  to  encourage  the  martyrs 
in  their  mortal  conflicls.  Their  cruel  fuf- 
ferings  and  their  unfhaken  firmnefs,  would 
indeed,  procure  for  them  a  higher  rank  in 
the  order  ol  the  heavenly  Rate,  than  others 
{hould  attain,  who  had  not  been  called  to 
give  the  fame  heroic  proofs  of  their  fidelity 
to  their  Lord.  But  it  is  the  expeded  glory 
and  fclicily  of  that  fiate,  that  fuHains  the 


424         The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

courage  of  a  chriflian,  and  enables  him  to 
triumph  over  the  moil  formidable  pains  of 
death. 

This  felicity  and  glory  is  the  fubjeft  chief, 
ly  pointed  at  in  the  text,  and  that  to  which 
without  entering  into  any  repreientation 
that  mufl  at  bed  be  fanciful,  concerning  the 
economy,  and  the  gradations  of  rank  that 
may  take  place  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  I 
{liall  limit  my  view  in  the  remaining  part  of 
this  difcourfe. — But  how  ihall  we  defcnbe 
that  which  eye  hath  not  feen,  nor  ear  heard, 
and  of  which  it  hath  not  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man  to  conceive !  It  would  require  the 
colours  of  heaven  and  a  divine  pencil  to 
reprefent  that  celeltial  "  city  v/hich  hath  no 
need  of  the  Sun,  neither  of  the  Moon  to 
fhine  in  it ;  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord  doth 
lighten  it,  and  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof. 
And  the  nations  of  them  that  arefaved  (liail 
walk  in  the  light  of  it,  and  there  ihall  in  no 
wife  enter  into  it  any  thing  that  dehleth, 
neither  whatfoever  worketh  abomination, 
or  maketh  a  lie  ;  but  they  who  are  wTitten 
in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life."'^' 

■*  Rev.  x^-i.  23,24—27. 


in  a  Future  State.  425 

The  improvements,  and  the  fublime  per- 
feftion  of  human  nature  (hall  be  correfpon- 
dent  to  the  glory  of  its  habitation.  But 
both,  perhaps,  are  equally  out  of  the  reach 
of  our  conceptions  at  prefent.  We  mud  ac- 
tually have  attained,  before  we  can  fully 
comprehend,  thofe  immortal  powers  with 
which  the  body  fhall  be  raifed  from  the  grave, 
and  re-united  to  the  foul,  purified  and  ex- 
alted by  a  nearer  approach  to  God.  It  is 
raifed  faith  the  apolUe  in  incorruption — in 

glory — in  power. — : It  is  raifed  difpirii- 

uaL  body  !'^ — Mark  that  bold  and  extraor- 
dinary figure.      It  is   allied  in  its  effence  to 

the    immortal    fpirit corapofed    of    the 

mod  pure  and  aftive  principles  of  matter 
that  refemble  the  purity  and  activity  of 
the  foul — incorruptible  in  its  organization 
like  the  diamond fplendid  in  its  ap- 
pearance like  the  fun — rapid  and  pow- 
erful in  its  movements  like  the  lightning, 
that  bears  in  its  courfe  an  image  of  the 
omnipotence  of  the  Creator. 

The  foul,  purged  from  the  dregs  of  fin, 
(hall  bear  a  higher  refemblance  of  the  per- 
feftion  of  God  in   whofc  image  it  was  firft 
3  G 

*  I  Corinthians  xv.  42,  43,  44. 


426        The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

created.  Its  intelleft  (liall  be  boundlefsly 
enlarged — its  affeftions  (hall  be  directed 
v/ith  immortal  and  unceafmg  ardor  to  the 
eternal  fource  of  love — and  we  have  reafon 
to  believe  that  it  (hall  enjoy  the  power  of 
unlimited  excurfion  into  the  works,  and,  if  I 
may  fpeak  fo,  into  the  eiTence  of  the  Deity. 

On  a  fubjetl  of  which  it  is  fo  far  beyond 
the  prefent  powers  of  the  human  mind  ade- 
quately to  conceive,  it  becomes  us  to  fpeak 
with  modefty  and  caution.  In  judging  of 
it,  reafon  affords  no  lights  to  guide  us — the 
fires  of  the  imagination  will  only  millead  us 
— we  mud  take  our  ideas  folely  from  the 
fcriptures  of  truth.  And  when  we  colleft 
together  ail  that  thofe  fublime  oracles  of 
wiidom  have  faid  upon  this  fubje6l,  and 
take  from  the  whole,  thofe  general  views 
which  they  give  of  the  Rate  and  felicity  of 
Heaven,v/e  may  range  them  under  the  heads 
of  its^/6'73^ — its  immiitability — and  its  eternity. 

Its  glory — "  It  doth  not,  indeed,  yet  ap- 
pear what  we  fliall  be,  but  we  know  that 
when  he  fliall  appear,  we  fliall  be  like  him, 
for  we  ihail  fee  him  as  he  is."'^* — There  the 

*   I  John  iii.  2. 


ill  a  Future  State.  427 

redeemed  fliall  dwell  in  the  prefence  of 
God,  who  alone  can  fill  the  uniimked  ex- 
tent of  then-  defires— there  they  live  in  the 
delightful  exercife  of  an  eternal  love,  and 
in  the  full  pofleffion  of  all  that  can  render 
them  fupremely  blefled— for,  "  in  his  pre- 
fence is  fullnefs  of  joy,  and  at  his  right 
hand  are  pleafures  forever  more."* 

There  they  ceafc  not  celebrating  in  fongs 
of  extacy,   the  infinite  perfe61ions  of  God, 
and  the  boundlefs  riches  of  redeeming  love. 
"  Hallelujah  !     Salvation,  and  glory,   and 
honor,     and  power    unto    the    Lord   our 
God."f   Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  w^as  "flain 
to  receive  power,  and  riches,  and  wifdom, 
and  ftrength,  and  honor,  and  glory,  and  blef- 
fing  !"j  There,  according  to  the  emblemati- 
cal language  of  the  revelations,  they  are  feat- 
ed  on  thrones,  and  receive  from  his  hands 
celeftial  diadems— for,  faith  the  fpirit,  "they 
fiiall  reign  with  him  forever  and  ever."^ 

If   human    nature,   not-withftanding   all 
its   prefent   imperfections,    is    dellined    to 

*  Pfiilms  xvi.   1 1. 

f  Revelations  xix.  i. 

t  Revelations  v.   12. 

§  Revelations  xxii.  5. 


428         The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

fuch  improvement  and  felicity,  much  more 
is  it  reafonable  to  believe  that  the  eterna-l 
habitations  of  the  pious,   and  the  temple 
of  the    immediate    prefence    of  God,   are 
infinitely   fuperior    in    fplendor   and    glo- 
ry to  ail  that  we  now  behold  in  the  fubhm- 
eft,   or  the    mod    beautiful    works   of  na- 
ture.     When  this   veil  of  fenfe    (liall   be 
withdrawn,   what  an  unutterable  fcene  of 
wonders  fhaii  be   difclofed  !     Imagination 
cannot  picture  them,  language  cannot  de- 
fcribe  them,   we   have  no  pov/ers,  at  pre- 
fcnt,  capable  of  admitting  or  ihilaining  the 
view.     Could  we  fuppofe  a  mole  that  gro- 
vels  in    the  earth,  enveloped    in  abfolute 
darknefs,  and  circumfcribed  to  a  few  inches^ 
to  be  endued  vv'ith  the  powers  of  vifion  and 
reafcn,  and  fuddenly  admitted  to   contem- 
plate, with  the  eye  of  Gallileo,  or  the  mind 
of  Newton,  the  fplendors  and  boundlefs  ex- 
tent of  the  univerle,  its  ravi{hments,its  tranf- 
ports,  its  extafies,  would  afford  but  a  faint 
image  of  the  raptures  of  the  foul  opening 
her  immortal  view  on  the  glories  of  that 
celeftial  v/orld. 

But  the  glory  of  the  heavenly  ftate  con- 
fiils  not  only  in  the  augmented  powers  of 


ill  a  Future  State.  429 

human  nature,  and  the  external  magnifi- 
cence that  adorns  it,  but  in  the  holy  and 
devout,  and,  may  I  not  add,  the  benevolent 
and  focial  pleafures  that  reign  there. 

There  *'  the  pure  in  heart  fee  God,"* — 
there  they  "  know  even  as  alfo  they  are 
known"f — there  they  love  without  fin  him 
whom  it  was  their  fiapreme  delight  to  con- 
template and  to  love  on  earth. — And  if, 
with  the  divine  philofopher  of  Greece,  I 
may  venture  to  fpeak  fo,  there  they  mingle 
themfelves  with  God. — But  this  is  a  fubjecl 
which  I  dare  not  touch.  I  fear  to  profane  it 
by  the  imperfeft  colouring,  or  the  mifguid- 
ed  fervors  of  fenfe. — Sometimes  the  humble 
and  devout  believer,  in  the  communion  of 
his  foul  with  God,  or  in  the  celebration  of 
the  precious  myfi:eries  of  his  grace  in  his 
temples  here  below  has  enjoyed  fuch  difcov- 
eries  of  his  infinite  goodnefs  and  mercy  as 
have  been  almoft  too  powerful  for  the  feeble 
frame  of  flelh  and  blood — Ah !  what  then 
will  be  the  manifeilations  of  Heaven  !  My 
beloved  brethren,    an  Almighty  power,  a 

*  Matthew  V.'  8. 

I  I  Corinthians  xiii.  1 2, 


430        The  Happinefs  of  Gwd  Men 

celellial  regeneration  will  be   neceflary  to 
enable  you  to  fuilain  the  unutterable  blifs ! 

I  have  ventured  to  mention  alfo  the  focial 
and  benevolent  pleafures  of  that  ilate.  And 
it  will  not,  perhaps,  be  the  fmalleft  part  of 
the  felicity  of  pious  fouls  to  enter  into  the 
ibciety,  to  participate  the  joys,  and  to  re- 
ceive the  congratulations  of  thofe  perfeft 
fpitits  who  have  never  fallen  from  their 
reftitude,  and  of  the  faints  redeemed  from 
among  men,  who  have  gone  before  them  to 
take  poflTeffion  of  their  promifed  reit. — 
*'  There  is  joy  in  Heaven,  faith  Chrift,  over 
one  fmner  that  repenteth^" — how  much 
greiter  will  be  their  joy,  v^'hen  he  has  efca- 
ped  the  dangers  of  the  world,  when  he  has 
no  more  caufe  of  repentance,  v/hen  he  has 
kept  the  faith,  when  all  his  confiifts  and 
temptations  are  finifiied,  and  he  has  arrived 
at  the  end  of  his  courfe  where  nothing;  fiiall 
ever  be  able  again  to  (liahe  the  fecurity  of 
his  flate,  or  to  impair  the  plenitude  of  his 
happinefs  ?  What  high  enjoyment  will  it  be 
to  meet  there  his  fellow  travellers  through 
the  dangerous  pilgrimage  of  life,  efcaped 

*  Luke  xr.  7. 


in  a  Future  State.  431 

from  its  pollutions  and  its  fnares.  To  meet 
there  with  "  Abraham,  Ifaac,  and  Jacob  and 
all  the  prophets/'  with  all  the  holy  apoftles 
and  martyrs  of  Chrift  !  To  meet  there  the 
friends  who  were  mod  dear  to  him  on  earth, 
whofe  fouls  were  mingled  with  his  !.  To 
meet  there  his  fellow  Chriftians  out  of  eve- 
ry denomination,  on  whom,  perhaps,  he 
had  been  accuftomed  to  look  with  dif- 
trufl  and  jealoufy !  Nay  more,  to  meet 
there  devout  men  like  Cornelius  from  every 
nation  under  Heaven  ;  and  to  fee  the  grace 
of  God  infinitely  more  extended  than  thofe 
narrow  limits  which  probably  his  prejudi- 
ces had  prefcribed  to  it  !  What  immortal 
confolations  muit  fill  the  breafts  of  thofe 
who  '•  are  come  unto  mount  Zion,  unto  the 
city  of  the  living  God,  the  heavenly  Jeru- 
falem,  and  to  an  innumerable  company  of 
angels,  to  the  general  affembly  of  the  Church 
of  the  nrll  born,  Vvho  are  written  in  Hea- 
ven, and  to  God  the  Judge  of  all,  and 
to  the  fpirits  of  jufl  men  made  perfect.*'' 

The  immutability  of  the  happinefs  of 
Heaven  is  another  charatler  of  it,  that  de- 
fer ves  our  confideration.     The  power  of 

*  Hebrews  xli.  22,  23. 


432         The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

God  will  place  the  redeemed  beyond  the 
influence  of  temptation  and  fin,  and  the  per- 
feftion  of  the  heavenly  (late  will  forever  ex- 
empt them  from  all  thofe  caufes  of  frailty 
and  change  that  exift  upon  earth.  It  knows 
no  change  except  that  of  continual  pro- 
greflion.  The  principal  value  of  all  our 
Iburces  of  enjoyment  in  this  world  is  def- 
troyed  by  their  inftability.  Every  obje8: 
here  is  mutable,  and  difappoints  thofe  who 
expeft  permanent  felicity  from  it,  and  pier- 
ces through,  with  many  forrows  thofe  v;ho  at- 
tempt to  lean  upon  it.  Even  the  comforts 
that  flow  from  religion  in  the  prefent  life 
are  variable  and  uncertain,  becaufe  the 
fanfclification  of  the  believer  is  flill  partial 
and  imperfeft.  But,  in  Heaven,  being  per- 
feftly  holy,  he  fliall  be  completely  and  im- 
mutably happy. 

Eternity  is  the  idea  that  crowns  and  en- 
riches the  wdiole.  "  There  fliall  be  no  more 
death,"  faith  the  amen,  the  faithful  and  true 
witnejs.  The  felicity  of  the  faints,  like  the 
being  of  God,  fliall  be  interminable. — • 
Glorious  and  confolatory  truth  !  I  would 
willingly  affifl:  your  m.inds  to  frame  fome 
mcafures  of  an  immortal  exifl:encej  but  how 


in  a  Future  State,  433 

Ihall  we  meafure  a  fubjeft  that  fo  far  fur- 
paffes  our  feeble  conceptions  ?  Number 
the  ftars  that  fill  the  flvv — reckon  the  fands 
upon  the  fea  (liore — count  the  drops  in  the 
immeafurable  ocean — compute  the  atoms 
that  compofe  the  globe — multiply  them  by 
millions  of  years,  and  when  this  amazing 
fucceffion  of  duration  (hail  have  been  nn- 
iflied,  and  repeated  as  many  times  as  are  e- 
qual  to  its  own  units,  eternity  will  be  but 
beginning — Beginning  !  It  cannot  be  faid 
to  be  begun.  It  is  wrong  to  apply  any 
term  which  meafures  progrelfion,  to  that 
which  has  no  period. 

In  this  aftoniQiino:  and  boundleiGi  idea  the 
mind  is  overwhelmed  !  What  a  glory  does 
it  (bed  over  the  inheritance  of  tke  fuiiits  m^ 
light  !  How  llrongly  is  it  calculated  to 
awaken  the  defires  of  a  believer  after  the 
reft  that  remainethfor  the  people  of  God  !  I 
may  add,  how  v/ell  is  it  fitted  to  confole 
thofe  who  mourn  over  their  friends  who 
lleep  in  Jefus  !  If,  at  any  time,  the  mind  is 
ready  to  fmk  under  the  weight  of  its  fuffer- 
ings  in  the  prcfent  life,  and  to  repine  at  tbe 
will  of  God,  will  it  not  become  patient,  and 
even  thankful  again,  when  it  look'  forward 
to  that  immortal  blellednefs  to  which  every 

3H 


434        '^^^^  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

calamity  that  tends  to  crufh  this  frail  tene- 
ment of  clay,  is  only  haftening  our  paffage  ? 
"  For  our  light  afflidions,  v/hich  are  but  for 
a  moment,  work  out  for  us  a  far  more  ex- 
ceeding and  eternal  weight  of  glory  ;  while 
w^e  look  not  at  the  things  which  are  feen, 
but  at  the  thing's  which  are  not  feen  \  for 
the  things  which  are  feen  are  temporal,  but 
the  things  which  are  not  feen  are  eter- 
nal."'^ 

Blc/fed  are  the  dead  xoho  die  in  the  Lord  ! 
yeajaith  the  Spirit,  that  they  may  rejl  from 
\  their  labors,  and  their  works  do  follow  them  ! 
What  a  confolatory,  what  a  fublime  and  glo- 
rious objeft  is  here  prefented  to  the  faith 
and  hope  of  good  men,  and  confirmed  by 
the  faithful  aileverations  of  the  fpirit  of 
truth !  All  the  fufferings,  induced  by  fm  in 
the  prefent  life,  there  com.e  to  an  everlafting 
period — all  the  joys  that  human  nature  ex- 
alted and  improved  with  immortal  powers 
can  fuilain,  fnall  be  poffeffed  by  the  re- 
deemed, and  fliall  continually  increafe  in 
an  endlefs  progreffioix  There  you  behold 
them  in  the  midil  of  their  heavenly  coun- 
try from  which  they  fiiall  be  no  more  ex- 
iled^— there  they  contemplate  without  a  veil, 

*  2  Cor.  iv.  17,  1 8, 


VI  a  Future  State,  435 

in  the  clear,  unclouded  vifion  of  heaven, 
the  adorable  perfections  of  God — they  be- 
hold him  enthroned  in  glory  ineffable, 
whence  he  difpenfcs  happinefs  to  countlei's 
myriads  of  bleffed  fpirits — Rivers  of  plea- 
fare  iffue  from  the  foot  of  the  eternal  throne 
— they  bathe  themfelves  in  thofe  pure  and 
celeftial  dreams — they  are  abforbed  in  ex- 
tacies  of  a  divine  and  immortal  love. 

My  brethren  !  what  an  animating  motive 
to  p  erf  eel  holinejs  in  the  fear  of  God,  is  pro- 
pofed  to  your  faith  in  the  bleffed  promife 
of  life  and  immortality !  What  a  rev;ard 
for  all  the  labours,  and  felf-denials  of  vir- 
tue !  What  a  confolation  under  all  the  af- 
fliftions  of  life  ! The  happinefs  of  hea- 
ven is  effentialiy  connected  with  purity  of 
heart,  v/ith  fandity  of  manners,  and  with 
ufefulnefs  of  living.  And  your  progrefs 
in  thefe  divine  qualities  fhall  bethemeafure 
of  your  eternal  felicity.  The  path  of  per- 
fect virtue,  indeed,  is  laborious,  and  often 
paffes  in  its  courfe  over  fteep  and  dirhcult 
afcents.  Our  paQions  frequently  render 
extremely  painful  the  facridces  which  duty 
requires.  Vv^e  are  obliged  to  combat  v^ ith 
the  world,  its  interells,  its  pleafures,  its  ex- 
aniplesj  its  felicitations,  and,  ftill  more,  to 


43p5        The  Happinefs  of  Good  Men 

maintair.  a  condant  coriili6l  with  ourfelves. 
Bat,  contemplcite  the  fublime  recompence 
which  rehiTion  confers  on  thefe  labours  and 
thefe  facrihces,  and  they  are  arduous  no 
longer.  What  are  the  enticements  by 
which  vice  woidd  enfnare  the  heart,  and 
withdraw  it  from  virtue,  compared  with 
th^i  J'ullnejs  of  joy  that  is  in  the  prejence  of 
God,  and  thole  rivers  o^ plecfiirc  that  flow 
at  his  righi;  hand  J  or  ever  more/  \V  licit  are 
the  labours  or  dangers  of  duty  compared 
with  its  triumphant  reward!  Endure  hard- 
nefs,  therefore,  as  goodjold.iers  of  Chrifl.  Je- 
yiij,  remembering  that  thefe  fiiort  conflids 
ihall,  ere  long,  gain  for  you  crowns  of  vic- 
tory, and  encircle  you  with  immortal  glory. 

Finally,  this  hope  affords  a  good  man  the 
beft  confolation  under  aflliclion.  All  the 
neceifary  evils  of  life  willfoon  be  ended,  and 
will  open  to  him  a  peaceful  entrance  into  thz 

joy  of  his  Lord,  If  difeafe  and  pain  are  haf- 
tening  his  return  to  the  duff,  from  lohich  he  zoas 
taken,  why  fbould  he  repine,fince  they  are  at 
tlie  fame  time  bringing  him  to  thofe  living 

fountains  of  immortal  health, where  GcdJIiall 
zcipe  awry  all  tears  from  his  eyes?  If  the 
dearefl  vies  of  frlendihip,  or  of  love  are  bro- 
ken afunder,  and  his  heart  is  torn  by  cruel 


in  a  Future  Stati:.  437 

bereavements  :  relio-ion  enables  him  to  Rnd 
a  fweet  repofe  in  God  his  befc  friend,  and 
conduces  his  hopes  to  a  fpeedy  and  delight- 
ful re-union,  in  the  regions  of  the  blellf^d, 
with  thofe  pure  and  virtuous  fouls  who  were 
here  mod  dear  to  his  heart,  in  like  manner, 
if  poverty  overwhelm  him,  or  his  faireft  pol- 
felhons  have  been  bialted  by  the  ilroke  of  di- 
vine providence,  are  they  not  infinitely  more 
than  compenfated  in  that  heavenly  inherit- 
ance to  which,  by  divine  grace,  he  is  born  ? 
— And,  when  death  comes  to  diffolve  the 
temporary  and  decaying  tabernacle  in 
which  he  had  fojourned  in  this  barren  wil- 
dernefs,  can  he  be  difmayed,  or  yield  to  im- 
pious fears,  when  he  fees  beyond  its  flood 
the  land  of^xovmkdirejt,  in  which  there  is 
prepared  for  him  a  building  of  God  an  hoiife 
not  made  zoit/i  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens  ! 

Elejpid  are  the  dead  vjho  die  in  the  Lord — 
yeajaith  the  Spirit,  thai  they  mry  rcjlfrom 
ihar  labours,  and  their  xcorksdojollow  them  I 

AMEN  ! 

FINIS. 


A  LIST  OF  ERRORS, 

JVhicb  the  Reader  is  requeued  to  corred,  o^vi/ig  to  ths  remote 
fit  nation  of  the  Autkor  frojn  the  Prcfs. 

Page  II,  line  i6,  before  rancour  infert  the 
Page  26,  line  24,  for  dreadful y  rQ3.d  fearful 
Page  41,  line  25,  for  a??2bitous,  read  anihitio'.'.s 
Page  46,  line  14,  for  ccfl  of,  read  caft  off 
Page  Qv^,  line  21,  for  propahly,  read  probably 
Page  119,  line  i,  for  the,  read  ^// 
Page  121,  line  3,  for  refle£ling^  read  unrefle^ing 
Page  122,  line  6,  for  affential  radid  efential 
Page  126,  note,  {or  pecker effe,  rQ.a.6.  pecherefe 
Page  169,  line  15,  ftrike  out  /<? 
Page  213,  line  13,  before  citizens  mkrl  good 
Page  216,  line  22,  {or  from,  read  hy 

do.  line  23,  for  receive,  read  hear 

do.  line  24,  after  dejiiny  infert  pronounced. 
Page  290,  line  13,  for  //it-  read  an 
Page  309,  line  3,  for  dreav  read  ^r^jw 
Page  318,  note,  line  i,  {or  ilhaninatti,  read  illnminati 
Page  321,  line  3,  after  i^;^/,  infert  Z/^^* 
Page  331,  line  4,  {or  friendly,  read  /fw^/Zj/ 
Page  338,  line  9,  for  hreafs,  read  i^/r^ 
Page  353,  line  12,  for  currupt,  read  corrupt 
Page  370,  line  8,  for  they,  rezd you 

do.  line  9,  for  the?n,  read  you 
Page  384,  line  12,  a.{ter  poferity  infert  — 

do.  line  14,  ftrike  out  —  before  on 
Page  387,  line  10,  for  defraflion,  read  diJlraClion 
Page  405,  line  7,  for  uncovered,  read  undifcovered 
Page  411,  line   18,  ftrike  out  7W« 
Page  430,  line  21,  for  fw«  read  eva^ 


LIST    OF 

SUBSCRIBERS     NAMES. 


A.' 

XV  EV.  JOHN  N.  ABEEL,  New-York. 

Daniel  Agnew,  Princeton,  New-Jcriey. 

Ifaac  Anderfon,         do.  do. 

Ifaac  Andrufs,  Newark,         do. 

John  Alfton,  Princeton,         do. 

Ifaac  Ailing,  Newark,  do. 

Rev.  Amze  Armftrong,  Mendham,  do. 

B. 
The  honorable  Elifha  Boudinot,  Efq.   one  of  the  juftices  of 

the  fupreme  court,  Newark,  New-jcrfej. 
Jofeph  Beach,  do.  do. 

John  Burnet,  Efq.  do.  do. 

Smith  Burnet,  do.  do. 

John  C.   Burnet,         do.  do. 

Jelfe  Baldwin,         do.  do. 

Peter  Van  Burkle,  Efq.  do.     do. 

Ifrael  Ball,  2  copies,         do.  do. 

Jonathan  Belton,         do.  do. 

Nathaniel  Boach,  Efq.         do.         do. 
Rev.  Abraham  Beach,  New- York. 
Stephen  Bogart,  do. 

Samuel  Boyd,  Efq.  counfcllor  at  law,  do.    ' 
Adam  Boyd,  Efq.   Hackcnfack,  New-J'^rfcy. 
John  Brown,  member  of  congrefs,  Franckfort,  Kentucky. 
The  honorable   William    Bingham,    fenator  of  the  United 

States,  Pennfylvania.  ^ 

Reading  Beaty,  Falfmgton,         do. 
Abraham  Blauvelt,  Nevv-Brunfwick,  N.  T. 
James  A.  Bayard,  Efq.  member  of  congvcfs,  Wilmington,  D. 
Elias  Boudinot,  Efq.  director  of  the  mint,  Philadelphia. 
Tobias  Boudinot,  Efq.  Beverwick,  N.  J. 
Samuel  Bayard,  Efq.  2  copies,  New-Rochcll,  N.  Y. 
Jofeph  T.  Baldwin,  Nev/ark,  N.  J. 


SUBSCRIBERS  NAMES. 

C 

General  John  N.  Cummings,  Efq.  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 
William  Chetwood,  Efq.  attorney  at  law,  Elizabeth-town,  do, 
John  Condit,  Efq.  Orange,  do. 

Ifaac  Watts  Crane,  Efq.  attorney  at  law,  New-Brunfwick. 
James  Caldwell,  Albany,    N.  Y. 
James  Campbell,  Newark,  N.  J. 
Jofeph  Camp,  do.         do.  \ 

Benjamin  Coe,         do.         do. 
David  Camfield,         do.  do. 

David  Crowell,         do.  do. 

Benjamin  Cleveland,         do.         do. 
Nehemiah  Crane,         do.         do. 
H.  Caritat,  New-York. 
Rev.  John  Croes,   Sweedfborough,  N.  J. 
Rev.  Jofeph  Clark,  New-Brunfwick,  do. 
Rev.   Ira  Condit,         do.         do. 

James  Cochran,  Efq.    member  of  congrefs,  Montgomery- 
county,  N.  Y. 
W.  J.  Condy,  Philadelphia. 
George  Wafhington  Clark,  Princeton,  N.  J. 
David  Comfort,         do.         do. 
Rev.  John  Cornell,  Pennfylvania. 
Robert  B.  Canfield,  Newark,  N.  J. 

D. 

General  John  Doughty,  Morris-town,  New-Jerfey. 

Matthias  Day,  Trenton,         do. 

John  Dennis,  Somerfet  county,  Maryland. 

Simon  Durye,  Princeton,  New-Jerfey. 

Rev.  John  Dow,  Belleville,         do. 

Ezra  Darby,  Efq.  Scotch  Plains,     do. 

Mary  Davis,  Peterfburgh, 

E. 
Thomas    Evans,   Efq.    member    of    congrefs,   Accomack 

county,  Virginia. 
Charles  Ewing,  Princeton,  New-Jerfey. 
N.  C.  Everet,       do.         do. 
Clement  Early,      .  do.        do. 


SUBSCRIBERS  NAMES. 

F. 

The  honorable  Theodore  Fofter,  Efq.  Senator  from  Provi- 
dence, Rhode-Illand. 

John  Jacob  Eaefch,  Efq.  Boon-Town,  New-Jerfey. 

Moore  Furman,  Efq.  Trenton,  do. 

Alpheus  Freeman,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  N.  Brunfwick,  do. 

Hiram  Freeman,  Newark,         do. 

Mofes  Fatout,         do.         do. 

Dwight  Fofter,  Efq.  member  of  congrefs,  Brookfield,  MafTa- 
chufetts. 

John  Forfyth,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

Arthur  R.  Fitz  Hugh,         do.         do. 

G. 

The  honorable  Benjamin  Green,  Efq.  Senator  from  P^hode- 

Ifland. 
Rev.  Walter  C  Gardner,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 
Dodor  Thomas  Griffith,         do.         do. 
Charles  Gordon,  6  copies,  Trenton,     do- 
Rev.  Ebenezar  Grant,  New-Brunfwick,     do. 
Calvin  Goble,  Newark,         do. 

Archer  Gifford,         do.         do.  / 

William  Griffith,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  Burlington,  do, 
Charles  Graham,  New-York. 
Elizabeth  Graham,         do. 
William  Gardner,  Newark. 

H. 
James  Hedden,  Efq.  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 
Elijah  Hedden,         do.  do. 

David  Hudfon,         do.  do. 

Mofes  Hedden,         do.         do. 
Ichabod  B.  Halfev,         do.         do. 
Matthias  B.  Higgins,         do.         do. 
Col.  Fitch  Hall,         do.         do. 
Samuel  Harrifon,  Orange,         do. 
James  Hopkins,  New-York. 

The  hon.  James  Hillhoufc,  Efq.  fenator,  New-Haven,  Con, 
The  honorable  John  Hunter,  Efq.  fenator,  South  Carolina. 
Mofes  Hedden,  Newark,  Ncw-Jerfey. 


SUBSCRIBERS  NAMES.  ' 

John  A.  Hanna,  Efq.  member  of  eongrefs,  HarrifburgEy 
Pennfylvania. 

William  Hindman,  Efq.  member  of  eongrefs,  Eallon,  Ma- 
ryland. 

Robert  G.  Harper,  Efq^i  member  of  eongrefs  from  Soutii  C 

Benjamin  B.   Hopkins,  Princeton,  New-J.erfey.r    - 

John  H.  Hobart,         do.         do. 

Thomas  G.  How,         do.         do. 

Daniel  E.  Kuger,         do.         do. 

John  Henderfon,         do.-         do. 

Robert  Hunt,         do.         do. 

Ralph  Hagenian,         do.         do. 

Samuel,  Hazard,         do.     do. 

James  Hamilton,         do.         do. 

Michael  D.  Henrj,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  New-Yorlr. 

Rev.  Andrew  Hunter,  Trenton,  New  Jerfej--. 

Rev.  Mr.  HoJt,  Beverwick,         do. 

Capto  Stephen  Kays,         do.- 

1. 

James  H.  Imlay,  Efq.  member  of  eongrefs,  Nevz-Jerfey.. 

Dodlor  Uzal  Johnfon,  Newark,         do. 

Thomas  P.  Johnfon,  Efq.  counlellor  at  lavv',  Princeton,  do-- 

George  W.  Jacklbn,         do.         do. 

Rev.  Jacob  J.  Janeway,  New-York. 

David  D.  Johnfon,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 

Eliphalet  Johnfon,         do.         do. 

Charles  Ingerfoll,  Princeton,         do. 

Theodoras  Johnfon,  Newark.         do. 

K. 

John  W.  Kittera,   Efq.    member  of  eongrefs,   Lancallery 

Pennfylvania. 
Mrs.  Snfannah  Kean,  Elizabeth-town,  New-Jerfey. 
John  Keize,  Efq.  New- York. 

James  Kinzey,  Efq.  chief  juftice,  Burlington,  New-Jerfey, 
Jofeph  Lake  Keen,  Newark,         do. 
Henry  Kollock,  Princeton,         do. 
Wiliiaiii  Knox,  jun.  do.         do. 


SUBSCPJBERS  NAMES. 

Rev.  A.  Gerardus  Kuypsrs,  New- York. 
Rev.  John  C.   Kun/ie,  do. 

L. 
Rev.  Doctor  J.  H.  Livlngfton,  New- York. 
Rev.  William  Linn,         do. 
Rev.  John  Blair  Linn,         do. 
John  J.  Lanfing,  Efq.  do. 

Peter  Le  Conte,  Newark,  N.  J. 
'Philip  K.  Lawrence,  Caldwell  townHiip,     do. 
Henry  Latimer,  Efq.   member   of  congrefs,  Wilmingtorij, 

Delaware. 
George  S.  Lcflie,  Nev/ark,  N.  J. 
Richard  Leaycraft,     do.  do. 

John  C.  Love,  Princeton,         do. 
Jofeph  Leigh,    '      do.         do. 
Charles  Lewis,  do.  do. 

Thomas  Longv/orth,  Newark,     do. 

M. 
James  Murray,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 
James  Morris,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  New- York. 
Alexander  Martin,  fenator,  North-Carolina. 
John  Muirhcid,  Hopewell,  N.  J. 
P-ev.  Walter  Monteith,  New-Brunfwick,     do. 
John  S.  Miller,  Newark,         do. 
Daniel  M'Elheran,         do.         ,do. 
Rev.  Do>5lor  Alexander  Macwhorter,     do.         do. 
Alexander  C.  Macwhorter,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  do.    do, 
Daniel  Meeker,         do.         do. 

William  Matthews,  member  of  congrefs,  Cecil  county,  Ma- 
ryland. 

R.  L.  Morris,  Efq.  member  of  congrefs,Sprin2fieId,Vermont. 

James  M'Ginnis,  Bioomficld,  N.  J. 

Charles  F.  Merce,  2  copies,  Princeton,  do. 

Ifaac  Meafon,  jun.         do.         do. 

Thomas  Miller,         do.  do. 

Aaron  Mattifon,         do.         do. 

T.  W.  Montgomery,         do.         do. 

Rev.  John  M' Knight,  New- York. 

Rev.  Samuel  Miller,         do. 


SUBSCRIBERS  NAMES. 

N. 
Ifaac  Nutman,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 
David  Nichols,         do.         do. 
Samuel  Nutman,         do.         do. 
Daniel  Neil,         do.  do. 

Col.  Jolm  Neilfon,  New-Brunfwick,     do. 

(>. 
The   Right  Rev,  Dr.   Uzal  Ogden,  Bifuop,  Newark,  N.  J. 
David  B.  Ogdcn,  Efq.  attorney  at  lav/,         do.         do. 
Mofes  Ogdcn,         do.         do. 

David  A.  Ogden,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  New- York. 
John  B.  Ofboin,  Scotch-Plains,  N.  J. 

p. 

The  Honorable  William  Paterfon,  Efq,  one  of  the  jufliices  of 
the  Supreme  court  of  U.  S.  New-Brunfwick, New-jerfey. 

The  Right  Rev.  Samuel  Prcvoft,  Biihop,  New- York. 

Rev.  Jofeph  Pilmore,         do. 

Samuel  Prince,         do. 

Daniel  Phoenix,         do. 

John  Pintard,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 

John  Poinier,         do.         do. 

Lewis  S.  Pintard,  KempPcead,  Long-Ifiand.  ' 

Elijah  Paine,  Williams  Town,  Vermont. 

John  A.  Pierfon,  Princeton,    N.  J. 

Thomas  Pinckney,         do.  do. 

William  R.  Phillips,         do.         do. 

Benjamin  I.  Palmer,         do.         do. 

Alfred  H.  Powell,         do.  do. 

Jacob  Plum,  Newark,       do. 

Caleb  Pierfon,  New-York. 

R. 

Jacob    Read,   Efq.    fcnator    from    Chaileflon,    South- 
Carolina. 

Rev.  Doaor  John  Rogers,  New-York. 

William  Rogers,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 

David  Rofs,         do.         do. 

Thomas  Richards,         do.         do^ 

Jonathan  Rhea,  Efq.  clerk  of  the  fuprcme  court,Trenton,  do. 


SUBSCRIBERS  NAMES. 

John  Rolflion,  Princeton,  New-Jerfey. 

Mrs.    Rigul,  Philadelphia. 

William  Rattoon,         do.         do. 

Lawrence  Raven,  do.         do. 

James  Rickets,  Efq.  Elizabeth-Town,         do. 

^• 
Lucius  Horatio  Stockton,  Efq.   Attorney   General   for  the 

United  States,  for  the  dillri6t  of  New-Jerfey,  Trenton. 
James  Stewart,  Printer,   12  copies,  Philadelphia. 
Cornelia  Sands,  New-York. 
Nathaniel  Seabury,  Poughkeepfie,  New- York. 
The  Honorable  Richard  Stockton,  Efq.  fenator,  Princeton* 

New-Jerfey. 
The  Rev.  Samuel  F.  Snowden,       do.         do. 
Mary  Stockton,  do.         do. 

John  N.  Simpfon,  do.  do. 

Chriftophcr  H.  Stryker,  do.  do. 

William  Stewart,  do.         do. 

Walter  T.  Smith,  do.  do. 

George  Scott,  do.  do. 

William  P.  Smith,  Efq.  Newark,  do. 

The  Honorable  Theodore  Sedgewick,  fenator  from  Maffa- 

chufetts. 
'Benjamin  S'r.ith,  Efq.  Trenton,  N.  J. 
Walter  Smith,  Maidenhead,         do. 
Mofes  Scott,  Efq.  New-Brunfwick,     do. 
James  Schureman,  Efq.  member  of  congrefs,    do.      do. 
■William  Steel,  Efq.  Springfield,         do. 
S.  Sitgreave,  Efq.  member  of  congrefs,  Eafton,  Pennfylvania. 
Abraham  Stryker,  Rocky  Hill,  N.  J. 
Lucius  Witham  Stockton,  Efq.  attorney  at  law,  and  clerk 

of  Hunterdon,  Flemington.      do. 
Rev.  Peter  Stryker,  Belleville,  do. 

Recompence  Stanberry,  Efq.  Scotch-Plains,         do. 
Hiram  Smith,  Efq.  Morris  county,         do. 

T. 
Jafper  Tenbrook,  Mev/ark,  New-Jerfey. 
i)ar,iel  Thcw,  do.         do. 

Daniel  I'ichenor,        do.  do. 


SUBSCRIBERS  NAMES. 

Jolmfoii  Tuttlc,  Newark,  New-Jerfey. 

Henry  Tenbrook,  New-York. 

Uriah  Tracey,  Efq.  fenator,  Litchfield,  Connefiicut. 

Hugh  K.  Toler,  Bofton. 

jofiah  Tattinall,  juji.  member  of  congrefs,  Savannah,  Georgia, 

Thomas  Taylor,  Princeton,  N.  J. 

Stephen  O.  Thompfon,  2  copies,  Nev/ark,     do. 

V. 
His  Excellency  Van  Polanen,  Ambaflador  from  the  Batavian 

Republic,  Princeton,  Ncw-Jerfey. 
Daniel  Van  Buftirk,  Bethlehem. 
Frederick  Van  Dyke,  New-Brunfwick,  N.  J. 
Elias  Van  Arfdalen,  Efq.  counfellor  at  law,  Newark,     do. 
John  Van  Arfdalen,  Princeton,         do. 

W. 

Jonathan  Williams,  Orange,  New-Jerfcy» 
Thomas  V>^ard,  Efq.  Newark,         do. 
Jacob  Wiifon,  do.  do. 

James  Whidock,  do.  do. 

Thomas  Whitlock,  do.         do. 

Samuel  Whitaker,         do.  do. 

Rev.  Ifaac  White,  Bloomfield,  do. 
Jofiah  Watfon,jun.  Princeton,  do. 
Henry  G.  Wifner,         do.  do. 

John  C.  Wiifon,         do.  do. 

Abraham  Williams,  do.  do. 

G.  S.  V\^oodhull,  Monmouth,       ^do. 
Matthew  G.  Wallace,  Philadelphia. 
P.  Vv^illfon,  Columbia  ColIc<];e,  New-Yorir. 
John  Wallace,  Efq.  Philadelphia, 
jofhua  V/allace,  Efq.         do. 

Y. 
John  Young,  Princeton,  New-Jerfey. 
John  Yates,  do.  do. 


DATE  DUE 

■  j^i^^^m^sm 

t 

-  __  ^<r 

j^,<iiiiW« 

KBWW'- 

1 

I 

GAYLORD 

PRINTEDINU.S.A. 

